Prima Facie
by LyricalKris
Summary: ADA Steve Rogers got the shock of his life when the case landed on his desk. His high school best friend, Bucky Barnes, hadn't been what anyone would call a troubled kid. No, he was smart, popular, and he'd been the one to save Steve from going down a dark path. He'd disappeared without a trace senior year, only to reappear fifteen years later on a mug shot. Stucky AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Dedication: This fic is for Mina on her birthday. You're the gift, baby, and I'm so glad you were born.**

 **A/N: I'm going to ask for your patience as this is a very new pairing for me, and it might take me a minute to get the flow. Also… it will be immediately apparent to anyone who knows the law that I do not, so I'm asking for your patience there too. I'll try to be as accurate as possible, I promise, and I'm open to being educated.**

 **Shall we begin?**

* * *

 _Prima facie: based on the first impression; accepted as correct until proved otherwise._

 _ **~0~**_

A thick file folder landed on the desk, obscuring the paperwork Steve had been reading over. He jumped back and looked up, already knowing what he'd see. Sure enough, Tony was smirking at him.

Tony was always smirking.

"You know we have paralegals for that kind of stuff, right?" Tony asked.

"I like to—"

"Do your own research." He waved a hand.

Steve arched an eyebrow. "Stark, you don't let anyone do your research for you either."

"That's my problem, man. There can only be one Tony Stark. No imitations accepted." He looked Steve up and down in that way that always sent a thrill down his back—not that Steve would ever admit to it. "Don't think I don't see the game you're playing there, Captain America."

Steve grimaced. He hated that nickname. If only Tony hadn't seen the tear that slipped down his cheek when the national anthem was being sung at the Fourth of July party last year.

"You dress like me," Tony continued.

"You dragged me to your tailor because you said whoever made my suits was pathetic," Steve reminded him.

"You have the same phone as me."

"You mean the birthday present you gave me because you insisted I had to stop living in the past?" Steve tilted his head. "My Android was only six years old, you know."

Tony shuddered. "I don't understand how you can say that with a straight face." He waved a hand. "The point is, there can only be one me, and it's not you."

Steve sat back in his chair, his hands steepled—not unlike Tony was prone to doing. "So, you're saying I must use paralegals because you don't."

"Exactly."

"Tony?"

"Yes?"

"No."

Tony stepped forward, his face at its most intimidating. Another chill went down Steve's spine.

Well, what? Steve couldn't help it if he had eyes. The man was so handsome it was ridiculous. And he didn't have his suit jacket on. Tony always wore a vest. He looked good in a vest. Really good. The problem with Tony Stark was that he knew damn well he looked good in...well, anything. When he was staring down at Steve with his Tony "The Iron Man" stare of destruction that had many a defendant shaking on the stand… it just did things to Steve was all.

Tony put his hands on Steve's desk and leaned over, getting damn close to his personal space. "Are we going to have a problem, counselor?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"What's in the case you brought me?"

Tony straightened up, his face gone to its usual easy, arrogant expression. "Murder and mayhem, obviously. Up against a Brooklynite, so I thought you might know him."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Yeah. All us guys from Brooklyn know each other. It's not like two point six million people live there."

"The hooligans. You can know all the Brooklyn hooligans?"

Steve scoffed. "Hooligans. If I used that word around you—"

"You have used that word around me because you're at least a hundred and nine years old. I try to speak your language every once in a while." His phone buzzed. He pulled it from his back pocket and glanced at it. "Anyway, do what you do best. Make sure the scumbag stays behind bars for the rest of his natural life. I have a thing."

"I'm on it," Steve said.

Tony got to the door and turned back. "Hey, Steve."

Steve looked down to hide his grin. "Yes, Tony?"

"If you don't want to try the shawarma place, how about all American? Down home cooking? I wouldn't eat fried chicken for just anyone, but I would if you'd have dinner with me. I'm magnanimous like that."

It was, to Steve's recollection, the forty-second time Tony had asked him out. "I still don't date my coworkers, Tony."

Tony clucked his tongue. "You're missing out, Captain." He gave him a jaunty wave and disappeared.

"Yeah," Steve said with a sigh. "Missing out." Tony's playboy antics were well known by everyone in the firm, if not all of Manhattan. Men and women both fell at his feet. Steve knew exactly what he was missing out on.

Oh, well. One night stands weren't really his thing anyway.

Getting down to business, Steve straightened up and pulled the file folder toward him. "Scumbag of the week is…" He flipped the folder open.

And let out a strangled cry.

He gripped the top page in his hand so hard it wrinkled. The mug shot looked like…

The scumbag in question stared out from his mug shot with blank eyes that absolutely couldn't be who Steve thought it was. That man—well, he'd been closer to a boy when Steve knew him—had vibrant eyes. Gorgeous eyes. This one had a dead-eyed stare. The man Steve knew had a brilliant, beautiful smile. This one looked dour and dangerous. The man in the mugshot was disheveled—his hair long and scraggly. It couldn't be him. It couldn't be.

But it was.

James Buchanan Barnes. He had been Steve's best friend through one of the darkest times of his life, and he had disappeared without a trace when they were seventeen.

"Buck," Steve whispered, running a finger over the criminal, the man who was even now wasting away in a jail cell. "What the hell happened?"

* * *

 **A/N: We'll get another chapter later today.**

 **Happy birthday, gorgeous girl. And she's talented too. Did y'all see that banner? *whistles***

 **Yeah, Mina made her own banner...like I could stop her, the fiend.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Happy Birthday, Mina. I hope you're happy with what these boys are about to go through in your name.**

* * *

 _ **~16 Years Earlier~**_

Up to that point, Steve had only interacted with James Barnes a few times in his life.

The first had been when they were in sixth grade. A group of bullies had cornered him on the playground. Steve did his best to hold his own, but mostly, that just resulted in them laughing at him. Then James had come barreling into the middle of it, shoving the other kids off him.

"How big of a pussy you gotta be to pick on one of the little kids, huh?" James had shouted, shoving the bigger kids back.

Steve still remembered how his cheeks had burned as he looked down at the ground. The other kids had laughed. "He ain't no little kid. He's in the same grade as us," one said.

"Yeah." Another kid kicked at Steve's shoe. "Just a scrawny piece of-"

"Hey, all right." James grabbed the most stubborn kid by the back of his shirt and hauled him backward. "Get outta here, already."

Snickering, the bigger kids got to their feet. Steve ignored James's hand as he stood up too, trying not to wobble. "Hey, I had that."

"Sure, you did. You were just making it look like they were kicking your ass."

Steve puffed himself up as much as he could. "Yeah, so what?"

Instead of looking annoyed, James looked amused. "So, nothing. Jeez, you're short. You skip a grade or what?"

Steve frowned. "No."

"Okay." The bell rang, and James waved. "Well, see you around."

Steve was aware of James throughout the years. He was popular and athletic. Steve was...not. But James wasn't the asshole kind of jock. He was always nice-held the door open for people, didn't act like a dickhead just because he was some kind of basketball prodigy.

And yeah, maybe Steve saw more basketball games than he really needed to. Maybe he thought basketball should have been the national pastime instead of baseball.

Or maybe he'd watched more than one basketball game because James was playing. Whatever. He wasn't going to talk about that.

It was just that he made it look graceful, the way he jumped in the air to make a shot. The way he dodged around the other players. The effortless way he handled the ball.

The way he looked in his jersey. The way his hair was always just a little too long and it riffled as he ran down the court. The shine on his muscles when they were slick with sweat from a game.

What. Ever.

That wasn't why Steve was there now. It really wasn't.

Well, he _was_ there to see James, but not because of his muscular arms, or perfect hair, or…

What he should have been concentrating on was how the hell he was supposed to get close to James in the first place. This wasn't a good plan. It was a simple one. Too simple. Want to get close to James Barnes? Get on the basketball team. It was something he could control. Potentially.

Ah, who was he kidding? He wasn't athletic enough to get on the team. He got winded easily, and he wasn't what anyone would call coordinated. Last picked in gym, and all that jazz. Which sucked, because he really liked playing.

"Tell ya what. If you don't try out, you really won't get on the team," he muttered to himself.

As he stood in line, he watched James. The thing was, he couldn't reconcile what he'd seen-heard-the night before with the guy in front of him right now. James and the rest of the continuing team were there putting the newbies through their paces. He was laughing.

He wouldn't be laughing if what Steve thought had happened last night really happened. Would he?

"What the hell are you doing here, Rogers?"

Steve cringed. He thought about ignoring the prick, but that never did any good. Taking a deep breath, he turned around.

Maybe his time would have been better spent pursuing some kind of martial art. This kid-his name was Johan, for fuck's sake-was a bully. What pissed him off more than anything was the fact he couldn't do much to guys like this. He'd survive a little name calling, but Johan Schmidt should be brought to justice. Simple as that.

Steve looked around. "I mean, the banner up there says it's basketball tryouts at three-thirty." He looked at the clock that hung above the gym. "It's three-thirty five. This doesn't seem like rocket science, Johan."

Johan narrowed his eyes. Of course, he hated his given name. He went by John. He shoved Steve backward. Steve stumbled but managed to stay upright. "I think you must be brain dead, Rogers," Johan said, shoving him again. "I seen you in gym. You think the coach is going to let you anywhere near the team? Huh? Your clumsy ass would bring everyone down."

He shoved Steve one more time, and this time, he fell backward, landing hard on his ass. He was fairly sure one of the others had stuck his foot out behind him, but he hadn't seen who. Johan and the other boys snickered. "See?" Johan said. "Clumsy as fuck."

Glaring now, Steve got to his feet and barreled toward Johan. Johan pushed him down again easily, to the laughter of the others. Steve swept his foot out. "Whoa!" Johan cried out, and then he was the one on the floor. It only took him a second to figure out what had happened. He leapt at Steve, intent on doing some serious damage.

"Hey, hey, hey."

James had appeared suddenly. Before Steve could process what was happening, he had his arms around him and was hauling him upright. For a moment, just a moment, Steve was way too aware that he was the little spoon. James's arm was right around his waist, and Steve's back was tucked up against his chest.

But it only lasted a moment before James stepped to the side, addressing Johan who was still on the floor. "What'sa matter with you, huh? Steve's a bean pole. Why you gotta be picking on him?"

"He got no business being here."

"It's open tryouts, John." James shook his head. "He's got the same right as you to try out."

By that time, Johan had gotten to his feet. He was red in the face and furious, but the way his eyes darted to somewhere behind him, Steve could guess one of the teachers arrived. "Coach Phillips, you can't let this kid on the team?"

Steve turned around. Sure enough, the stern-looking, no-nonsense coach was behind them looking as unamused as ever. He folded his arms across his chest. "I suppose you have a good reason?"

Johan looked momentarily ashamed, but then he narrowed his eyes. "Yeah. He's a murderer."

Steve stiffened, and his blood ran cold.

"He killed his own little brother. That's why he got no friends. People are too afraid he'd kill them as soon as he got the chance."

The whole gym was silent. Steve felt lightheaded. He wanted to run, but he was frozen, his eyes on the floor. There was a lump in his throat too big and painful to speak around. His eyes stung.

"Mr. Schmidt, I need you to turn around and get out of here," Coach Phillips said.

"What?" Johan sounded outraged.

"Sports is about being part of a team, son, and I don't need players with a cruel streak."

"But, Coach! I just told you-"

"I heard what you said, and I'm telling you right now, tryouts for you are over. You're not what this team is looking for."

"Coach-"

"Walk away, Mr. Schmidt. Go on, now."

Steve didn't have to look up to know Johan was glaring daggers at him. He'd pay for this later, but he didn't give a damn. It was all he could do to keep from hyperventilating, or crying, or fainting. He was way too aware of all the eyes on him.

"Hey."

A warm hand on his arm made Steve start. He sucked in a deep breath.

"Hey, come on." James gave his arm a tug. "I'll take you through your paces on the court outside."

"What's everyone standing around for?" Coach Phillips clapped his hands. "Come on. We have work to do, people."

Steve took another breath and held his head up high. He still felt a little woozy, but there was no sense in showing it. Not when he knew everyone was still watching him, even as they got back to the business of tryouts. "I don't want to jump the line," he said, surprised when his tone was steady. Toneless, but steady.

James laughed. "You didn't notice? A buncha kids went with John. There were only a couple ahead of them, and the other guys got them. Come on. Let's get some fresh air."

When he followed James outside, Steve was afraid he was going to start asking questions, or maybe tell him privately that they didn't want him to try out. He didn't. He started taking Steve through the same paces as all the rest.

As he knew he would, Steve sucked. He made a hook shot, but that was about it. Still, though he must have been frustrated, James never showed it. He just kept saying, "Again, man. This time…" and giving him suggestions for improvement.

By the time James called it quits, Steve was exhausted. He flopped down on the asphalt, panting, trying not to groan.

To his surprise, James flopped down right next to him. He propped his hands behind his head, staring up at the sky as though they were lounging in the grass after a picnic or something. "So, here's the thing, Steve-o. You can't shoot worth a damn."

Steve snorted and sighed, waiting for the inevitable.

"But you're a fast mother trucker. Really fast. And you got what Coach Phillips likes to call grit. You're not a pansy, that's for sure."

"Uh. Thanks?"

"I'm going to tell Coach to put you in."

Steve pushed up onto his elbows. "What? Why?"

"Basketball is about more than the guy who gets the ball in the net, you know. We have to have sneaky mother truckers like you to dodge around all the other guys." James rolled onto his side to look at him. "Look, you got like, zero muscle mass and no stamina. You sound like an asthmatic right now. But you're not afraid to push yourself. That's good. So I'll tell Coach to put you in, if you agree to work with me after class even when there's no practice." He tilted his head, fixing Steve with a look. "It's going to take me a hot minute to convince Coach it's a good idea, but I'll do it if you'll agree to put in the extra work."

Steve stared at him, sure he must be pulling his leg. He narrowed his eyes, wondering if James had a mean streak in him after all. But the other kid was looking back, his blue-green eyes clear and serious. "Why would you do that?"

James shrugged and flopped back down. "Told you. You're fast. You got potential." He cackled. "Damn, that sounds like a line, huh? What is this, one of those feel-good sports movies? We should start playing 'Eye of the Tiger'. But anyway, I think you could make a good player. Simple as that."

Steve blinked. Given the reason he'd come here, it was better than he could have hoped for. One-on-one contact with James? He had to think back to be sure he hadn't planned this. It was almost devious. "Uh, yeah. That'd be great." He sat up. He knew he was going to be sore just from this tryout. What the hell was he getting into? "Yeah, man. Any day after school. Every day, if you want."

James sat up and slapped him on the back. "Good deal. Welcome to the team."

"Thanks, James."

James shuddered. "Oh, hey. None of that. Call me Bucky. Everyone calls me Bucky."

"Okay, Bucky."

 _ **~Now~**_

Steve closed the file folder and put his hands over his face. The list of priors on Bucky's record broke his heart. He just couldn't reconcile the memory of his friend with the person in this file folder.

How had this happened?

Steve gathered up the paperwork into a neat pile. He pushed back from his desk. If felt like that one folder weighed about a thousand pounds. His shoes were made of lead.

Tony had been the one to hand him the file, but it was Chief Assistant DA Fury he went to. He knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Steve shuffled in and set the folder on the desk. "I need to be taken off this assignment, sir."

Fury arched an eyebrow. "Is there a problem, Counselor?"

"Yeah. Conflict of interest."

Fury studied him for a long moment, his eyes, as ever, assessing. Steve looked back as evenly as he could. He didn't want to have to say why.

Thankfully, Fury nodded. "All right. Call Stark back in here. Tell him he can't pass off this one after all."

"Thank you, sir."

Steve walked back to his desk and slumped down in his chair, still stunned. He was relieved that Fury had given in without a fuss.

There was no way Steve could ever work to keep Bucky behind bars, no matter what he'd done.

* * *

 **A/N: My thanks to Nikki, Packy, MyOnlyHeroin, and especially Betsy, who doesn't even know these characters and yet still helps me out. Hehhe.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Good afternoon, duckies!**

* * *

Strictly speaking, Steve didn't like calling in favors. He didn't like the idea that he could get special privileges just because he did his job. He was good at putting bad people behind bars. In his mind, that didn't mean anyone should bend the rules for him.

Bad people.

Every time Steve thought about Bucky's file, his heart leapt up to his throat, and he was consumed by the need to just _do_ something. The person in the file couldn't be his friend. Another Brooklyn hooligan, Tony had said. He'd been teasing. He'd never believed Steve when he told him he used to be trouble.

Without Bucky, it could have been—likely would have been—Steve in that file. It should have been his rap sheet—theft, breaking and entering, possession, drunk and disorderly conduct. Steve had been dabbling in all of those things. He agreed with Tony when he called these people scumbags because he firmly believed that was what he had been, or at least, he'd been well on his way to becoming one.

Now, he was eating those words. No way could Bucky be a scumbag. Steve sat at his desk, staring out the window, trying to reconcile his memory of Bucky with the list of charges and convictions in his file.

As an ADA, Steve looked at that file and saw a good-for-nothing lowlife who had never brought anything of worth to his community and country. Someone who might be able to reform, but for now was better off behind bars where he couldn't hurt anyone else. As Steve Rogers—former stupid-ass kid—he looked around his office, at his degrees, at the pictures of him in a suit shaking hands with influential and powerful people, and he knew exactly how much value a scumbag like James Barnes could bring to a life.

And, okay. Theft, b and e, drugs. How bad were those crimes, really? Steve still believed in justice, and from Bucky's file, he could see his former friend had been in and out of prison all his adult life. He could accept, as much as he didn't want to, that Bucky had done those things, and he'd paid his debt to society.

But murder? A very gruesome, cold-blooded murder? That was a leap Steve couldn't wrap his head around. Bucky, despite obviously being into some very bad stuff, hadn't ever hurt anyone. To go from that to the crime scene in the file?

No. Not Bucky.

Steve knew he was running out of time. The case was straightforward enough. Charges were going to be brought formally against Bucky quickly. Tony might have played the part of the rich playboy, but he was good at his job. Too good.

And there was the other thing Steve didn't want to think about. Part of the reason he didn't want to accept that Bucky's life had fallen into such spectacular pieces was the fact that he was responsible. The last time Steve had seen Bucky, his friend had looked at him with such hate in his eyes that it made him want to throw up every time he thought about it. This was his fault.

Steve picked up his phone and made the call.

 _ **~Bucky~**_

Someone had brought fresh fruit for the inmates.

It happened sometimes. There was a donation or somebody's garden was overabundant. Either way, to Bucky, it was a bigger treat than when he managed to get his hands on a damn Snickers bar. Give him a fresh apple over a piece of candy any day of the week.

They had plums today. He grabbed one quickly, knowing they'd be gone in a heartbeat and walked away from the line with nothing else. This was enough. He turned it over in his hand like he was Golum and this was the one ring. His mouth watered just thinking about what it would taste like. He raised it to his lips.

"Barnes!"

Startled, he dropped the plum. He looked up to find three guards around him and wracked his brain, trying to remember if he'd done something that would piss the guards off. Not that it took much. If the guards wanted to mess with him, they always found a reason—his bed wasn't made right; he didn't answer them quickly enough. Whatever.

They didn't like him, and they had their reasons.

The features of the guard who had called his name twisted and he grabbed Bucky by the arm, hauling him to his feet. Apparently, in trying to figure out what the hell they wanted with him, he hadn't reacted fast enough. "Come on, Barnes, I don't got all day."

And just like that, Bucky found himself being propelled out of the dining hall. He looked over his shoulder just as the untouched plum he'd left behind was scooped up by another inmate. A light shove to his back and he faced forward again, heart racing.

"Where we headed, fellas?" he asked, taking on as unconcerned a tone as he could manage.

"Hows about you shut your fucking mouth, huh?" said the other guard, steering him down another hallway.

"Hey, don't get your knickers in a twist," Bucky said. "It was a friendly question."

"Oh, well, in that case. You're going wherever we take you. How's that for a friendly answer, huh?" They turned down another hallway.

Bucky's throat got tight as he realized they were headed to a part of the prison that didn't get a lot of traffic. He craned his neck, looking around as they walked. They'd long ago passed the area that was off-limits to inmates. Were there any cameras back here? "What the hell is this?" he asked, his voice still steady though he felt anything but. "Don't tell me. You guys finally found your nuts, and you're going to kick my ass like you mean it. None of this bullshit like you're so clumsy, you 'accidentally' tripped me."

The guard walking to his right, predictably, stuck his foot out. Bucky had too much forward momentum going to stop, so he tumbled to the ground. Pissed, it was his automatic reaction to throw off the grip of the guard who tried to haul him to his feet. That was a mistake, and it earned him a baton to his back and an elbow to his gut among other things.

"Who's the clumsy one now, huh?" one of them laughed.

He was wheezing, wanting desperately to curl in on himself when the guards got him back on his feet. Two of the guards took an arm in a vice grip while the other took up the position behind him. He poked him in the back while the other two half-dragged, half-hustled him forward a ways.

They stopped in front of a door, and Bucky's gut twisted more painfully than it already was. He had the feeling he was going to be leaving this room in need of serious medical attention.

"Try not to aim for the face," he said, his voice strained only because he'd been struggling to catch his breath from the hit he'd taken to his stomach. "Makes it hard to make it look like an accident."

"Shaddup." The guard behind him shoved him, sending him flying into the room. Bucky went down face first.

"Hey, what the heck is going on?" a fourth voice Bucky didn't recognize asked.

"He's a mouthy sonovabitch," the first guard said. "Gave us a fight."

Bucky scoffed as he pushed himself to his knees, still facing away from the door, looking down at the dirty floor he was on. He started when the owner of the fourth voice knelt beside him. Bucky flinched. _Here we go._

Rather than the hit he expected, Bucky felt a light hand on his back. "Did you tell him what he's doing here?" the voice asked, sounding annoyed now.

One of the guards huffed. "You got fifteen minutes, Rogers," he said. Then, there was the sound of footsteps and the door slamming shut.

A hand curled around Bucky's arm. "Get off," he muttered, rolling his shoulders to throw the hand off just as he had in the hallway.

The fourth guy—the only guy in the room now— instantly took his hands off Bucky. "Sorry, Buck. Are you okay?"

Buck.

And the asshole guard had called him Rogers.

Bucky turned his head and instantly snapped it back to the ground. He blinked several times, feeling the other man's eyes on him.

It couldn't be. He was going out of his mind. Again.

He forced himself to look. Sure enough, he would swear on everything that the face staring back at him was none other than Steve Rogers. "Jesus Christ. Did I hit my head?"

Steve's concerned face crinkled as he smiled. "Do you know who I am?"

Bucky sat with his back against the wall and shook his head hard, still not sure if he was hallucinating. "You're Steve." He laughed because the very idea of it was ridiculous.

He didn't know how to feel about this. He hated Steve Rogers. Yet, seeing his smile, he wanted to smile back. His eyes followed Steve as the man sat against the wall next to him. It wasn't a bad sight. He was wearing a gray shirt that hugged muscular arms, and jeans. Bucky laughed again. "Did you sign up for a government experiment, or something? You were miniature the last time I saw you."

Steve bristled. That same face he used to make when they were stupid kids, and Bucky told him to stop getting himself in trouble—practically anyone could beat him in a fight. "I wasn't that small."

Bucky opened his mouth, ready to deliver the double entendre that was right on the tip of his tongue, but then he snapped it shut again. He suddenly remembered just who he was talking to and why it had been so many years since he'd seen him. He got to his feet.

"I hit a growth spurt. After you left," Steve said.

They were in some kind of storage room, Bucky realized distractedly. He turned his back on the other man. "What are you doing here, Steve? How did you do this?" he gestured around them.

"Ah…" Now it was Steve's turn to give a humourless laugh. "I'm a lawyer."

That got Bucky's attention. He swung around and stared. Steve had stayed seated. He wondered if that was on purpose—to give Bucky the sense he was in control of anything. "What kind of lawyer?"

Steve looked down to his folded hands. "I'm an ADA."

Bucky covered his face with his hands, hiding a smirk. "Oh, that's perfect. Don't tell me you got my case, and now you're going to be the one to put me behind bars for the rest of my life. What, did you have me dragged in here so you could shove it in my face? You shouldn't have bothered. I really know I'm as good as dirt."

"Buck…"

That one word sounded so heartbroken, Bucky couldn't stand looking at him. He was angry, but he didn't know why.

Steve sighed. "I did get your case, but I gave it right back." Now, he did get up. He touched Bucky's arm. Bucky yanked it away. "I'd never prosecute you."

"Of course not. Conflict of interest, I guess. Though it's been, what? More than a decade? Is that really a conflict? You could have taken the case."

"No. I couldn't have. Look. We don't have a lot of time. I came here to ask you what the hell happened."

"I thought you got my case."

"I know what they say happened. What they say you did." Steve shifted. "Did you?"

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't?"

"Yes."

Bucky was startled by his tone; frozen by it. There was such conviction in Steve's voice, that it was impossible to deny the truth in it. He meant what he said.

Then again, Steve always meant what he said.

Bucky wiped his hair back away from his eyes. "They said I did it," he said, his voice flat.

"But you don't know?"

"I don't remember." Bucky sat down heavily on the edge of a sturdy-looking box. "There was a party. I was drinking water." He shook his head, disgusted with himself. "I'd been sober for a year and a half. Since my last stint in prison. I guess I fell off the wagon."

"And murdered a cop's wife? Practically ripped her apart?"

Bucky shuddered. "I don't remember," he whispered.

Someone pounded on the door, and they both jumped. "Wrap it up," one of the guards said.

Steve made a face, looking at the door with a tight jaw. "They're not treating you right in here," he said. It wasn't a question.

Bucky scoffed. "They say I killed a cop's wife. Practically ripped her apart, remember?" He shuddered again. He'd woken up covered in blood, face to face with the glazed-over eyes of a woman he'd only met once; the wife of his friend. Her untouched face was the only thing left unbloodied, but even that was a horror. Her mouth was twisted open in a horrible scream. "It's a fun place to be. The guards hate me, because it was a cop's wife. The inmates would love me except I didn't kill the cop—I killed the girl. You don't get points for that." He ran a hand through his hair with a rueful smile. "I get in a lot of accidents. The guards see to trip a lot when I'm around. Luckily, I'm there to break their falls."

"But they're the ones who are responsible for your well-being. That's their job."

He had to smile. "Steve. You haven't changed at all, have you? Just because people are supposed to be good guys doesn't mean they are."

Steve ducked his head, a strange look on his face. "Yeah. I guess I never did figure that out."

When he looked up from under his lashes to find Steve's eyes on him, Bucky shivered. It wasn't a shudder of revulsion this time, but a thrill that shot straight down his spine.

He hated Steve. Right?

There was another hard knock on the door, and this time it opened. The guards came back in. Steve kept looking at Bucky. "I'm going to send someone. A lawyer. Not a damn public defender. Accept her help, okay?"

"You and your god damned savior complex. Haven't grown out of that either, huh? What, the first time wasn't enough for you?" Bucky asked, not really as angry as he wanted to be. The guards had grabbed his arms again.

"Buck." Steve was looking at him. That look. The one that always made Bucky want to give him anything he asked for.

"Yeah," he said, tired. "Yeah, I'll see her."

He tried not to look back as he was led away.

* * *

 **A/N: See y'all soon!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: :) Happy weekend.**

* * *

Steve sat at his desk staring out the window.

In his line of business, he had run into a some reprehensible scumbags. Yet most of them, serial rapists, child molesters, and murderers, had someone sitting in the courtroom, there to love them in spite of everything.

Regardless of what he had or hadn't done, even on paper, Bucky was far from the worst monster Steve had ever heard of. Yet, there was no one on the outside rooting for him. No one to offer support. Steve had asked his ties at the prison and confirmed no one had visited his friend aside from his public defender.

Steve thought of Bucky in high school—all smiles and surrounded by friends. He clenched his hands in fists on his armrest, overwhelmed by the itch to do something. Steve believed in justice. He'd dedicated his life to fighting for it. He wasn't used to being on this side of the bench—with the family and friends who were helpless to do anything but watch as someone else decided their loved one's fate.

He'd already done what he could. His hands were tied now.

Someone burst through his office door with a crash. "Rogers, what the hell?"

Steve took a few seconds to count to ten and take a deep breath before he turned his chair away from the window to look back toward the door. "What's up, Tony?"

"Oh, don't give me that innocent look, golden boy." Tony threw himself down in the chair opposite Steve. He looked genuinely irritated.

"You going to tell me what your problem is?"

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Okay, if you're going to play it like that, fine. See, I thought I knew you. You're one of those sweet guys. Maybe a little cocky and self-righteous sometimes, but hey, who am I to say anything about that?"

Steve sat back in his chair, trying not to smirk at that. Tony calling anyone cocky and self-righteous was hypocritical as hell.

"You were the only one to figure out I've been working eighty to ninety hour weeks the last four months running. One pain in the ass case after another. Bam, bam, bam." Tony shook his head. "So when you handed this case back to me, I thought it was because you figured out it'd be a cake walk. I could have phoned in that case.

"But then, this morning, I get a phone call. All of a sudden this punk-ass who's only had public defenders all his miserable life is being represented by one of the biggest, ball-busting defense attorneys in the city. Natasha Romanoff, Steve? Really? The Black Widow?"

Tony looked downright wounded, and any amusement Steve felt at the rant was long gone. He ducked his head and looked down at his desk. "I told Fury it was a conflict of interest for me to take the case."

"There's a difference between a conflict of interest and actively helping the other side." Tony threw one arm up and out in question. "Explain this one to me, Captain America. Why are you suddenly on the side of the scumbag?"

Steve winced and breathed in through his nose to cover the spark of irritation that went through him. "He's not a scumbag."

There was a long silence, and Steve could feel Tony's eyes on him. "This man ripped a woman to shreds like a damn animal, and he's not a scumbag."

Now Steve did look up, his jaw taut. "Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

Tony stared back, his head cocked to the side as he studied Steve. "How do you know him?" he asked, his tone blunt.

"You were wrong. I don't know every hooligan in Brooklyn. But I do know this one. We were friends. I haven't seen him since high school, but we were friends."

When Tony looked at him like that, Steve would swear he could read his mind. "That's not it," Tony said. "I know you and Romanoff have history, but you hate going against her as much as any of us do. You're not a dick. You wouldn't have pit her against this office at all for some guy you haven't seen since you were a skinny, dweeby kid. Oh yeah, don't think I didn't look your high school photos up a long time ago."

"That's...really creepy, Tony."

"It never hurts to have blackmail material." Tony shrugged. "Don't change the subject. The point is, this guy is more than an old buddy." He paused a beat. "First boyfriend?"

And, of course, Steve hesitated just a beat too long before he answered. "No. He—"

"Oh. Ohhh." Tony clapped his hands and stood up, pointing at Steve. "Be still my beating heart. Baby Steven Rogers had a bad boy boyfriend? Did he wear a leather jacket? Drive a motorcycle? Maybe he snuck you into the theater for a date and stole you a box of candy? Huh?"

"No. _I_ was the bad boy," Steve said, slamming a palm down on his desk.

That shut Tony up. The other man stared, and Steve sighed, running a hand over his face as irritation drained away, replaced with the confused wreck his thoughts had been lately. "And he wasn't my boyfriend," he said quietly. "But he was the one who… I don't know. I guess he saved me from myself. I was angry, and I was stupid. I did some really stupid things."

"What kind of stupid things?" Tony asked, sitting down across from him again.

Steve just shook his head.

 _ **~Sixteen years Earlier~**_

Bucky was quiet today.

The last three months—since basketball tryouts—he and Steve hung out all the time. Usually, Bucky preferred to be out and about. But it was raining today. The weather was getting colder. Soon there'd be nothing but indoors.

"You don't like coming to my house, do you?" Steve asked, watching as Bucky flopped down on his bed.

Bucky shrugged. "It's a house same as any."

"But you always get all weird."

Bucky was quiet for a few seconds. He pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Okay, look. I'm not tryin' to say nothing about no one's Mom, ya know? It's just that your mom kinda bugs me. Not me me. But she bugs me because of how she treats you."

Steve furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Ah, I dunno." Bucky rolled his shoulders, looking uncomfortable, but he didn't drop it. "Just she's kind of not-mom-like. She's cold. It's like she doesn't even look at you or really talk to you except when you're right in front of her."

"Oh," Steve said. He sat on the floor, looking away from him out the room's tiny window.

"Man, sorry. I guess that was a shitty thing to say about your mom. Just…" Steve heard Bucky swallow hard. "She doesn't hit you does she?"

Steve's head snapped to the side and he stared at his friend. "What? No." He shrugged and looked away. "But maybe she should."

"What are you on about?"

Another shrug. "Can't really blame her for not liking me, is all." His heart was pounding so fast. There was a lump in his throat that made it painful to breathe. "I killed her kid."

Silence met his announcement. Steve's skin crawled, and he bowed his head in old, old shame. He really hadn't meant to say anything about it. First of all, he hadn't figured out what he needed to about Bucky; the whole reason he'd sought him out in the first place. Secondly, well…

Bucky had gotten kind of important to Steve. It wasn't even that he had a crush on him, although that was true too. It had just been a long time since he had a friend, and now he'd gone and ruined it.

"John said you killed your brother," Bucky said. He sounded kind of dazed. "That day at tryouts."

"I don't know how he knew that," Steve said. "No one here is supposed to know that."

"When did you do it? And why? And did you go to juvie?"

"I… no. I mean, I was five."

"You were _five_? What the hell?"

"I was five, and my brother was three." Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "There was a gun, and I thought it was a toy."

"Oh." Bucky sounded confused. "Wait, so it was an accident."

"Well, yeah, but I shouldn't have been playing with a gun."

Bucky snorted. "Don't you think probably a gun shouldn't be anywhere a five-year-old could get to it? Man, if your mom hates you when she shoulda been watching—"

"I didn't say my mom hates me, and it was my uncle's house. It was his gun. What? A mom's gotta search every house before she brings her kids inside?"

"Hey, chill out. It's cool." Bucky slid off the bed onto the floor next to Steve and bumped his shoulder. "That's a really shitty thing to have happen, but I don't think you killed your brother. I hope your mom doesn't say that."

"She doesn't. I think she just thinks it."

"Well, that's stupid. You were five. She should think your uncle killed your brother."

"She doesn't talk to my uncle anymore." He shook his head. "Anyway, if you don't like hanging out here, why don't we ever hang out at your house?"

Bucky got a strange look in his eyes, and he faced forward. He scuffed his shoe on the floor. "Alex, my stepdad, works from home. He's busy. I don't like to bug him."

Steve turned that over in his head, and for the millionth time, he asked himself if he'd really heard what he thought he had. He decided to push one more time. "It's not like we'd bug him. We'd just go up to your room."

"It's not a good idea, okay?"

"Okay. Sorry," Steve said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

Bucky seemed moody, and the silence was awkward. But after a minute or so, Bucky bumped his shoulder again. "Hey, you should ask that chick Peggy out to the dance. I think she digs you."

"I'm not going to the dance."

"Why not? It's fun times." He ruffled Steve's hair playfully, and Steve ducked away. Bucky laughed. "Come on. Girls get all sappy, and you'd definitely get a kiss or forty. I bet you've never even kissed someone."

"I have," Steve said, his cheeks flaming.

"Oh yeah? Who."

The heat in Steve's cheeks rose several degrees. "Nunya."

"Don't give me that shit. Tell."

"No one you'd know anyway. It was at my last school."

"Aww. That's cute. Anyway. You might even get laid." He ruffled his hair again. "Ask her."

"I don't like"— _girls_ —"dancing."

Bucky snorted. "That's not the point. Did I mention the getting laid part?"

 _ **~Bucky - Present Day~**_

Bucky had been trying to remember the first time Steve meddled in his life. It was an annoying habit of his, as he recalled. Steve had a million annoying habits. At least he had when they were kids.

"What are you smiling at, Mr. Barnes?"

Bucky's head snapped up at the crisp tone. He blinked at his new attorney. "Am I smiling?"

"You were up until about two seconds ago, yeah."

He rubbed his hands over his face. "I didn't mean to."

"Did you hear what I said?" she asked. He thought there was the smallest of smiles playing at the edge of her lips, but he couldn't be sure. She was a frightening woman.

"Uh. Yeah," he said.

"Mm hmm. And do you have any questions?"

"No."

She pursed her lips and looked at him. "Mr. Barnes, if you're not going to take this seriously—"

"I do take this seriously, okay?" He ran his hand through his hair and huffed. "Look, I just do what you tell me to. I got that part down, believe me. I smile and nod and look contrite, and I do the time they give me."

"Are you contrite?"

"What?"

"Contrition is for guilty people, Mr. Barnes. If we're going to register a non-guilty plea, guilty is not how you should look."

"Yes, ma'am."

Ms. Romanoff folded her hands on top of the table and fixed him with a look so cool, Bucky actually shivered. He sat up straighter. "Mr. Barnes, I've read your files. I'm aware of the level of attorney you're used to. I'm also aware your typical transgression is more along the line of possession, petty theft, and, ohh..." She raised her eyebrows, looking down at one folder. "Grand theft auto."

"It was a really pretty car."

"And you were high."

"I was… a lot of things."

"But never a murderer."

Bucky looked down at the table. His heart ached. "No." The word came out as barely more than a whisper.

"It's not your typical crime, and I'm not your typical attorney."

"No, ma'am. I'm sorry."

"They call me the Black Widow."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Because I'm a serious attorney."

"Yes, ma'am."

Her lips twitched. "Although, doing what I tell you is a good decision regardless, I have to admit."

"Yes, ma'am."

She chuffed. "You can call me Natasha."

He raised an eyebrow. "Because we're friends?"

"My friends call me Nat."

He found himself fighting a smile. "Okay, Natasha."

She nodded, looking satisfied. "So let's try this again. Do you have any questions?"

"One."

"Which is?"

"How do you know Steve Rogers?"

Now she grinned. "That's exactly what I most wanted to ask you, Mr. Barnes."

"James."

"Because we're friends?"

"My friends call me Bucky."

"What does Steve call you?"

Bucky looked down again. "Buck."

"I see." She paused, considering him. "I thought Steve Rogers was the most uptight, son of a bitch I'd ever met. He gives me a run for my money in the courtroom, and I lost to him, so of course I hated him." She rolled her eyes. "But I stuck my foot in my mouth at the worst possible time in front of the worst possible judge. Luckily for me, he was watching. He saved my ass."

"So you owe him."

She snorted. "That was three years ago. I'm doing _this_ because I lost a bet."

"You lost a bet to Steve?"

"I did. And this is how he spent it."

"Uh huh." Bucky bit the inside of his cheek.

"So, let's go over this one more time."

* * *

 **A/N: I have discovered that the Avenger Superhero names work really well as hot shot lawyer names.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Phew. Sorry about the wait the like...five of you who are reading this. ;)**

* * *

"There's something off about the officer's statement."

Tony slammed his fist down on the table and turned in his chair to glare at Steve. "Rogers, you're not supposed to know his statement. You keep skulking around here, and it's starting to get on my nerves."

Steve tapped on the transcript of the interview. "It's the way he talks about him. Like he's a scumbag."

"Look, I know you have nostalgic, happy-time feelings for this guy, but he _is_ a scumbag. Police officers aren't supposed to like the bad guy. And it's not like your buddy is any old prick. This guy annihilated Officer Zemo's wife."

"Allegedly."

Tony's eyes narrowed. " _Allegedly_ , Zemo has a right to be pissed, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but it's the way he talks about Bucky. Like he's worthless."

This time, Tony turned his chair all the way around. He leaned back, his hands clasped on his lap as he stared up at Steve with a serious expression on his face. "You're going to have to forgive me my condescension, Cap. I'm a super-genius, so I'm used to retaining a concept the first time learn it." He held up one hand. "See, James Barnes is a criminal." He held up his other hand. "Helmut Zemo is a cop. Criminals and cops aren't friends. They don't play nice."

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "But that's the thing. Zemo and Bucky were friends. At least friendly enough to be at the same party. Together. That alone is enough to give a shadow of a doubt."

"That's great," Tony said enthusiastically. He got to his feet and took Steve by the shoulders. "Here's the only thing. We're the prosecution. That means we're trying to prove guilt, not a shadow of a doubt." He gave him a shake, and raised his voice. "You're on the wrong side, Rogers."

Tony took a step back and dropped back in his chair. "Get out of my office. Something tells me I have to prepare for the defense to rake a bereaved widower over the coals."

Steve bit the inside of his cheek. "We should-"

"No." Tony swung back to face him. "We shouldn't do anything that doesn't involve putting this asshole behind bars for the rest of his natural life. That's not our job. If the police didn't find the connection-"

"Find the connection between one of their own and foul play?"

Tony's lip twitched. "Foul play. Jesus Christ. You're straight out of film noir." He took a deep breath and made a visible effort to gentle his tone. "Steve, I get what you're trying to do here. But you're going unethical at a rate I can't keep up with. And that's saying something, because I'm not very ethical. Isn't it usually you arguing this side of things?"

It was true. Steve had gone head-to-head with him before, wanting to stick to the letter of the law where Tony didn't mind bending the law a bit. "This is important. I do what I do because I believe in justice."

"So do I." Tony reached over and picked up a file folder. He tossed it, open, on the desk nearest Steve. It was a gruesome picture of Victoire Zemo-very, very dead. "Justice for her."

Steve met his eyes, his jaw taut. "There's no justice in imprisoning an innocent man for a murder he didn't commit."

"What, besides the fact you want it to be true, makes you so sure? I've seen his visitor logs. I know you haven't seen him. No one's seen him except Romanoff."

Steve hated the idea of Bucky being alone. Where the hell was his mother in all of this? "I just know," he said, knowing full well how it sounded.

For once, Tony didn't look sarcastic or derisive. His expression was sympathetic. "It's not that I don't see how good a story it is. He saved you from a dark path only to start down a dark path himself. Now, you want to save him. It's poetic. But life isn't poetry, Steve."

Steve looked down and nodded, hiding his irritation behind the hint of a smile. "Thanks for the life lesson, Tony. I'll get out of your hair."

"Just ask yourself if he's worth risking your career. If Fury knew you were rifling through our case looking for a way to get him off…"

"Thanks, Tony. Good luck."

 _ **~0~**_

Natasha Romanoff arched a finely manicured eyebrow at Steve across the desk in her office. "That's a gutsy tactic. Shift the blame to the crooked cop, huh?"

"It's not a tactic. It makes sense."

"It makes sense that a man brutally murdered his wife at a party of all places, and then blamed the guy he brought to the party?"

"No." Steve sighed. "That part doesn't make sense, but follow me here. I don't know what happened between this guy and his wife. But let's just say for argument's sake that something did. They got into a fight. He overreacted. Suddenly he's got a dead body on his hands. Whatever he was doing with Bucky, I don't know. But if you read the transcript of his interviews, the way he talks about Bucky is as though he's worthless. His word choice doesn't give him any value at all, negative or positive."

Now, Natasha looked thoughtful. "He talks like a cop who's stopped seeing criminals as human beings. So assuming he's capable of killing his wife, Bucky is a convenient scapegoat."

"Which would explain why Bucky, who was sober and drinking water, doesn't remember starting to drink. Zemo would have known about his alcoholism."

"And no one is going to believe a blackout drunk ex-con over a cop." Natasha smirked.

"You think it makes sense?"

"The more important part is that I can make it make sense to a jury. A guy named Helmut with anger issues? I can sell that."

Steve frowned. "It's not a tactic."

She smiled. "You're sweet, you know that? We're lawyers. Tactics is what we do. We argue our side, prosecution or defense. Who's on the stand in the first place is the cops' job."

Which was why he shouldn't have ever expected sympathy from Tony. "I know. It's just-"

"This one's personal?" Natasha quirked her lips. "You haven't seen him since the first time."

"It can't possibly be a good idea to have an ADA on the visitor log. For him or for me." He tilted his head. "How's he doing?"

"The only time he smiles is when we talk about you."

Steve ducked his head. For some reason, his cheeks got hot. "That's not what I asked."

Natasha hummed innocently. "I'll get you a meet off the books."

Steve's head shot up. "What?"

"You've got your strings; I've got mine. I'll give them a pull and see if I can get you in the same room with him." Her expression turned devious. "Not enough time for a conjugal or anything…"

His cheeks flamed, and he ducked his head again. "That's not… It isn't…"

Natasha laughed. "Really. So it _is_ like that. The golden Captain America likes a bad boy."

"Don't call me that." He ran a hand through his hair. "You've been talking to Tony."

She shrugged. "Of course. The bastard knows he's not going to get anything out of me, but he can't help himself. He had to try to charm me for information. About you, mostly." She grinned. "I think he's jealous. He's been trying to turn your head for years. This guy comes along, and suddenly you're breaking all the rules."

Steve shook his head. "It's not like that."

"It wouldn't be so bad if it was like that, you know?"

"Right." Steve looked up, bemused in spite of himself. "Even if he wasn't in jail for murder-"

"Which you don't believe he committed, and give me a break. If you didn't think I could get him off, you wouldn't have gotten me for him."

Steve frowned and pretended she hadn't spoken. "Even if he wasn't _currently_ incarcerated, we've seen each other once in fifteen years. Everything else aside, I have no idea who he is now."

"Except that you're sure he's not a murderer."

"And besides, he has every reason to hate me."

They sat in silence for a few beats before Natasha said, "Are you going to elaborate?"

"Not my story to tell, but it's the reason we haven't seen each other since we were kids."

She nodded, accepting that way easier than Tony would have. "Well, like I said. I'm going to get him off. So maybe you should work on that while he's still locked up." The devilish grin returned. "Then you can work on getting him off the fun way."

 _ **~16 Years Ago~**_

The rain didn't bother them at first. They were teenage boys and made of anything but sugar. But a soft, persistent rain became a torrential downpour. They were deep in the neighborhoods of Brooklyn-far from shelter.

"Come on." Out of instinct, Steve grabbed Bucky's hand and ran with him.

"Where are we going?" Bucky asked over the din of the storm.

"Just trust me."

Bucky didn't answer. He tightened his grip on Steve, and they ran on.

"Who lives here?" Bucky asked when Steve led them through a gate at the side of a house.

"Who knows? The point is, they're not here."

"What are ya talking about?" Bucky pulled up short. "What are we doing here, then?"

"Getting out of the damn rain. Come on."

They were both shivering as Steve began to tap on windows. He was showing off, and he knew it. He'd skipped two houses-easier houses-to go to this one. It was fancier. Guaranteed there wasn't going to be any antique furniture there. Of course, it tended to increase the presence of burglar alarms, but it was usually easy to see if a house was wired. This one wasn't.

"Come on, man. We're going to get in trouble." Bucky looked over his shoulder self-consciously, whispering as though anyone could hear them over the pounding rain.

"Naw." Steve clenched his jaw. It was _cold._ "Don't worry about it. I've done this loads of times. 'Sides, if we don't get out of this rain, we're going to be popsicles. We'll be washed away in the torrential rain, only to be dug up a hundred years from now when everyone we know is dead."

Bucky laughed in spite of his nervousness. "Christ, you're dramatic. What are you…. Shit."

Steve had found an unlocked window and slid it open. It wasn't hard to pop out the screen. "Stop worrying, Buck. Hold on. I'll make sure it's all clear."

He hoisted himself through the window, taking a glance around before he spilled himself onto a hardwood floor. He grinned. The house was nice. Really nice. There was no dog waiting for him, and nothing in the way of the window. "Okay. Come on." He beckoned to his friend.

"I'm not-"

"Buck."

Bucky grunted. Being taller than Steve by a long shot, he stuck one leg in, and hauled himself inside that way. When he got to his feet, he teetered unsteadily. Steve reached out, instinctively putting a hand to his waist to settle him.

Their faces were really close when he did that. Really, really close. Despite the chill on his skin, Steve felt a rush of warmth go through his whole body. Bucky's puffs of breath were warm on his face.

"Warm," he muttered.

"Huh?" Bucky said.

Steve let him go and took a step backward. "Come on. We can find a dryer or something."

"Are you nuts?" Despite his words, Bucky followed Steve further into the house. "We're going to get annihilated. Someone is going to come home."

"Not usually. Think about it, man. It's two o'clock. Probably the people who live here work, so they won't be home until five. We have a minute."

"And if they do come home?"

"You're a fast runner." Steve flashed him a grin. "It doesn't happen very often." Actually, the last time it had happened to him was what had led Steve to Bucky, but that was another story. "We'll be fast. Use the dryer."

"And what are we going to use while our clothes dry? You want us to wander around here naked, huh? And if someone comes back, we go streakin' out of here? Literally?"

Steve shivered. Wouldn't that be a sight. He cleared his throat and went into the master bedroom. "I bet…" He grinned. "Yep. His and her robes. So. Do you want the pink one?" He was already starting to toe off his soggy shoes.

A strange, unsettled look came over Bucky's face as Steve took his shirt off. He turned quickly away. "Fine," he grumbled. "Whatever." He went around the corner to change.

A few minutes later, they'd located the dryer and were lounging-Bucky in a pink robe, Steve in white-in the living room. "Look at this controller." Steve shook his head, trying to figure out how to work the ginormous television.

"You know what? I don't want to watch anything." Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and hunkered down on the couch. "You're probably going to order their pay-per-view next."

Steve flinched. "Look, it's not like they'll miss it. It's $2.99. $4.99 at most. What's that to them?" He gestured around at the upper middle-class opulence.

"You think that's an excuse? This is fucked up, man."

"What's your problem?"

"This isn't you. Breaking into people's house. Stealing their...robes or whatever."

"I'm not going to steal their damn robes. You know that. We're just getting dry. You think we should freeze out there?"

Bucky glared. "We weren't going to freeze. This is creepy. I just keep thinking how creepy it is to think about someone being in my house when I'm not there. Wearing my things. It doesn't even matter if you take something." He shook his head and stood up. "We gotta go. I'm going to go right now. This is too gross."

Stung, Steve got up and followed him back to the dryer. "I don't understand why you're so upset. It's not like-"

"You know, this isn't you. This just isn't you," Bucky said, looking up at him. He looked so hurt. "You're not a bad kid, Steve. I don't get why you're doing this. You really break into houses?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I haven't for a while." Not since they'd been hanging out.

"Are you trying to get in trouble?"

"I'm not going to get in trouble."

"You could, and then what? No more basketball. No more school. You go to jail. You don't want to go into the system, man. You know what happens to pain in the ass kids who end up in the system."

Steve looked down at his feet and shrugged. "Maybe I should already be in the system, you know?"

They were both quiet for a minute after that. "What are you doing?" Bucky said finally. "Some stupid ass bullshit where you didn't go to jail when your brother died, and now you're trying to make up for that?"

"It's not like that."

"Whatever. Let's just get out of here."

They dressed in wet clothes and left the house, Steve aching for more reasons than Bucky could ever guess.

* * *

 **A/N: Catch you later, dudes!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey, guys. Sorry about that wait. This is a new pairing for me, so the writing doesn't flow as well as other things.**

* * *

Anyone who said working out was a natural high had obviously never been high. There was no comparison. That being said, Bucky did like working out. He liked the burn of his muscles; the stretch and pull and strain. It made it easier to concentrate on something else, something other than his life.

"Barnes!"

Bucky froze mid-rep. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. He'd only gotten to seven before the guard—he knew his name now, Rumlow—gave him a rough smack to his arm. "Did you hear me, Barnes? I said on your feet."

Biting the inside of his cheek, wanting to snap back that he hadn't actually told him to get up. He reached for his prison issue shirt. Rumlow slapped his hand away. "Now," he said.

"I have to wear a shirt," Bucky said, confused and irritated.

"Oh, yeah? Why?"

"My lawyer is here, right? It's...professional." He tugged self-consciously on his undershirt. Natasha was always immaculate. He'd look like a sewer rat next to her.

Rumlow snickered. "Professional." He turned to his fellow guard. "Look at the professional here. What do you think you are? Some hot shot businessman?" He scoffed. "Come on, businessman. I have some stylish accessories for you. Get your ass up." He held up the shackles with a vindictive smile on his face.

Bucky stood slowly, holding Rumlow's gaze. "Ready to comply," he said in his most deadpan voice, and he lifted his hands so they could put the cuffs on him.

Irritation flickered over Rumlow's features, and Bucky wasn't surprised when he "accidentally" kicked his shin—hard—instead. Really, really hard. Despite his best effort to act as though the guard hadn't fazed him at all, he couldn't help the small limp. Of course, Rumlow only propelled him forward faster.

When the door opened, Bucky forgot about his pain for a fraction of a second. Natasha was there in the room, but she wasn't alone. Steve was with her. Steve wearing a slick, black suit. Steve, who stood up with a smooth grace, his eyes following him as he was lead to a chair and made to sit. Steve's eyes narrowed, and they followed the guard out the door. As soon as the door was closed, though, they flicked back to Bucky.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, self-conscious. He was really underdressed compared to Steve. And Natasha. Fucking lawyers. Also, why was the room so hot? Usually every room in this whole damn place ran too cold.

Natasha cleared her throat, and only then did Bucky realize he'd been staring at Steve. He'd have felt bad except Steve was staring back.

"What's going on?" Bucky's voice came out rougher than he meant it to; more gravelly.

A smile played at the corner of Natasha's lips. "I brought in a specialist to work with you on your testimony. Now, play nice for a minute. I seem to have left my briefcase in my car." She shouldered her bag as she leaned across the table toward Bucky. "There are no cameras in this room."

Bucky's cheeks heated, and Natasha had swept out of the room before he could even begin to form an articulate response. He looked back to find that Steve too was blushing, and that disarmed him somewhat. When he saw Steve's eyes rake over his form, he almost laughed.

He was a junky and fucked up in about a hundred and five different ways, but Bucky knew when he was being checked out. He also knew when someone liked what they saw. Whatever else was going on right now, Steve liked Bucky like this—disheveled and stripped down to his tank top.

Fair was fair. Bucky allowed himself a moment's appreciation for the sight in front of him. Steve Rogers looked damn good in a suit, with his hair perfectly tousled and yet still professional. When he'd reappeared in his life a couple of months before, Bucky had been too shocked, too far gone in his hopelessness to have appreciated the sight in front of him.

He'd begun to hope, and that made him extremely nervous. His brow furrowed, and he dropped into his seat. Trepidation stirred in his belly. He still had no idea why Steve had helped him, and he wasn't sure he appreciated it. By now, he knew better than to hope. His life had proven to him over and over again that hope was a dangerous thing.

This bastard had made him hope everything would be all right once before. He was the reason everything had gone to pieces then. Bucky didn't think he'd survive it this time. He didn't have any fight left.

As though sensing the turn to the atmosphere, Steve sat down slowly, his hands on the table as though showing he had nothing to hide. "You were limping when you came in."

"Hello to you too," Bucky said.

Steve looked abashed. "Sorry. It's just…" He nodded toward the door Bucky had come in. "They're still mistreating you."

Despite himself, Bucky had to fight the smile that threatened. "You know, you're the only one surprised at that."

"It's their job to protect you, Buck. If they can't handle that job, then they need another. They—" Steve frowned when Bucky started full on laughing. "What's so funny?"

"You are." Bucky shook his head, grinning at the other man. He brought his cuffed hands up and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I'm too tired to hate you anymore. It just takes too much energy."

"I told Natasha you wouldn't want to see me," Steve said, all earnestness. "It's just that she said you kept asking about me."

"Yeah. I can't figure out why you're doing all this. Helping me."

Steve looked down at the tabletop. "Feels like the right thing. I don't think you're guilty."

"You don't know me." His voice sounded more tired than angry even to his own ears.

Steve raised his head. "There's a pretty convincing argument that you didn't do this, Buck. Is it possible you did it?" He grimaced. "Sure. But that doesn't feel right. I'm not delusional. I'm not saying you're not an addict, but you've never been angry when you were on something. It's never gotten bloody."

"There's a first time for everything."

"Maybe, but I think there's a story that fits better."

Bucky laughed again and shook his head. "You still think it's your job to save people."

Steve looked sad. "My job isn't about saving people. It's about justice."

"You're a sweet kid, you know that?"

Steve tilted his head. "Are you making fun of me?"

"A little. It's just so you." Bucky smiled. Looking at Steve, he cocked his head, fixing him with a tired but amused look. "You're trying to save me again."

"I...don't know how not to." He hesitated but quirked an eyebrow. "I don't think I can make it worse this time. So there's that, at least."

"Yeah, I might be in over my head a bit this time." He raised his shackled hands and rested them on the table. "If this isn't rock bottom…"

"You're going to be okay, Buck. We're going to win this thing."

"That's what you said last time."

"Last time, I was a kid who trusted adults to do the right thing."

"And now you're an adult who still trusts adults to do the right thing."

"You don't believe I can help."

Bucky raised his head, looking at Steve. He had such pretty, earnest eyes. Steve in his crisp suit, with his tousled hair, and his good, respectable life. Steve who still believed in justice.

On impulse, he flipped his hands over, palm up. Confusion flitted over Steve's face, but he reached out and put his hand in Bucky's. A strange thrill went down his spine. Steve's hand was warm, his skin soft. For a second, emotion welled in Bucky's throat, and he had to swallow hard. "That you believe it…" He shook his head. "It's more than I've gotten from anyone in a long time. Whatever happens—"

"We're gonna beat this thing, okay?"

There was that voice again. Like Steve thought if he said it with enough conviction, everything would magically go his way.

So often since they'd last seen each other, Bucky had been angry, remembering his old friend's stubborn belief.

 _It'll be okay, Buck. We can make it stop. You and me. It's going to be okay. Trust me._

How often had he heard those words in his head when he was at his lowest. When he woke up in an alley or in some dilapidated house with a new track mark and no memory of the night before. When he'd been arrested before and had been forced to detox, when he was rolling around in agony on the floor, he cursed Steve Rogers' name.

Looking at him now, though, Bucky knew he'd always been full of shit. Steve had never done anything but try to help him. It hadn't been his fault he couldn't when they were kids. Now, he had power, and more friends at his side. If he still couldn't help Bucky, that wouldn't be his fault either.

Bucky tightened his grip on Steve's fingers, squeezing once before he pulled back, dropping his hands on his lap.

It was only fifteen minutes later that Rumlow was shoving him back in his cell. Literally, unnecessarily shoving him. Buck stayed facing the wall, his eyes closed. He didn't want to see the cell door close. As it was, he couldn't help but hear it. He flinched at the sound of the locks sliding back into place. A claustrophobic feeling began to encroach on him, cutting off air to his lungs and closing his throat. He breathed in through his nose and out again slowly.

The ugly feeling that crept over his skin then was one thing Bucky wished had stayed in the past. It had been the one thing he absolutely hated about being friends with Steve when they were kids. Then, as now, Steve was just so...good. Bucky? Bucky never had been that good. Despite what Steve always said—that he'd been the bad boy and Bucky the one who pulled his ass from the fire—it had never felt that way.

It always felt like this. Like Steve was clean, polished and beautiful, and Bucky was better off left in this tiny cell, dirty and alone, away from all the civilized people. It was why Bucky had never really been surprised when his life went the way it did.

Moving woodenly, Bucky went to his bed and sat. It had been so surreal to see Steve again. Little Steve—not so little anymore.

When they were kids, Bucky had played a good game, pretending he was someone he wasn't. Yeah, he'd been popular, but it wasn't a real kind of popularity. Those kids liked him because he was good at ball or because he was quick with a comeback.

Steve? Steve had always seen him. It unnerved Bucky as much as it made him feel…

Well. It made him feel, that was all.

 _ **~16 Years Ago~**_

The first kiss was an accident.

Steve had gotten himself into trouble again, trying to take on a bully twice his size. Luckily, it was after school this time, so Bucky had been able to dispatch the asshole, peel Steve's ass off the pavement, and get him the hell out of there before any of the teachers was the wiser.

"Man, there's something wrong with your head." Bucky shook his head as he dragged Steve down the street, his hand clamped around his wrist. "Come 'ere. Let me look at your stupid face."

Steve scowled, but he stayed still as Bucky looked over his wounds. He'd have a shiner, but it wouldn't be his first. Bucky grunted and stepped back. "You're going to get your brain knocked loose one of these days, you know that?"

His friend flashed a cheeky grin. "You mean I got brains left?"

Bucky snorted and gave Steve a light shove. "Shit for brains is what you got, but you keep sticking your head where it don't belong, you aren't even gonna have that anymore. Seriously, Steve. I know you got a good reason. You always got a good reason, but if a guy can wipe the floor with ya, you gotta stay out of it. "

"That's the problem, though. Everyone stays out of it, and no one does anything. I don't like bullies."

Bucky gave an exasperated growl. "Fine, okay. Look, is your mother home?"

Steve made a face. "Is she ever?"

Bucky felt a pang at that. Steve was alone so often. He wanted to invite him over, but Alexander was such a prick about other kids in the house.

His stepfather was a prick about a lot of things.

"Okay. Let's go to your house then. If you're going to keep throwing yourself at these assholes, you should at least know how to throw a punch."

An hour later, they were both sweaty, stripped down to their undershirts. Steve didn't have anything resembling strength, but he was stubborn as hell. He kept at whatever Bucky was trying to teach him even though his hand was obviously hurting.

"Let's try something else real quick," Bucky said.

Steve, predictably, shook his head. "I almost got it. Come on. Just one more time."

"Rest your knuckles, man." Bucky shook his head and gave Steve's hair a playful ruffle. "Anyway, that was a dumb place to start. I doubt you'll get a chance to get a punch in."

Steve made a face and lunged for him. Bucky laughed, side-stepping him easily. He grabbed his friend by the arm and pulled him backward so his back was against Bucky's chest. He got him in a headlock. "See what I mean?" He tightened his hold as Steve struggled. " So what you want to do is—Whoa!"

Bucky found himself falling backward as Steve had hooked his foot around his and thrown himself back with all his weight. As they landed, the breath was knocked from Bucky's chest. Steve rolled off him, propping himself up on his arm. "You okay?" he asked, eyes wide.

For a second, Bucky was too shocked to do anything. He blinked upward, kinda staring, shocked. Steve's eyes got even wider, and he gave Bucky a little shake. "Hey, Buck. Come on. What's wrong with you? Are you okay?"

And then, Bucky had sprung. With a cry, he launched himself forward, knocking Steve off balance and then onto his back. He was over him with his legs pinning Steve's and their faces an inch apart.

What he meant to say was, "Gotcha!" but the word died on his lips the second he and Steve were face-to-face. Instead, what he did was close that last inch. He felt Steve's hot breath on his face, and he was gone. He tilted his head forward and kissed him. Hard.

Steve let out a muffled, "Mmph," that vibrated against Bucky's lips, but a second later he responded. He tilted his head into the kiss.

Out of breath, Bucky broke the kiss with a gasp, rolling onto his back simultaneously. As he stared up at the ceiling, he felt the blood leave his face. He gulped for air as though he was drowning. His heart was pounding, and his throat was tight.

He heard his step-father's voice in his head.

Beside him, Steve slowly sat up. Bucky closed his eyes. He had no idea what to say or do. Every part of him was fighting a stupid response to punch the hell out of Steve's pretty face. He was scared and angry, and angry that he was scared. He fully expected Steve to start yelling.

He didn't. He stayed still except for his ragged breathing. That was the only sound in the house—their breaths. It was a full two minutes before Bucky decided he couldn't take it anymore. He sat up and chanced a glance at his friend.

Steve was staring. It wasn't an incredulous stare or a disgusted stare. No, it was a kind of wide-eyed stare, his lips parted in a small 'o' of surprise. It was so god damned cute, Bucky wanted to smile.

He was cute and sweet and Jesus Christ, how long had Bucky wanted to kiss him? Despite the chaos in his head, he wanted to kiss him again right then. His whole body itched with the temptation. He licked his lips, and almost groaned when Steve's eyes followed the motion. His friend's cheeks tinted red.

Bucky was going to do it again. If he didn't get the hell out of there, he was going to do it again.

He pushed to his feet. "I, uh… I forgot something. I forgot about…" He shook his head, looking around for his shirt. "I have to go."

As he all but ran away, Steve hadn't said a word.

* * *

 **A/N: Poor kiddos.**

 **How you guys doin'?**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hello, lovelies!**

* * *

At first, Steve was sure he had to have done something wrong. Of course he had. Why else would Bucky be pretending he didn't exist? After all, Steve's passing crush on the school's attractive basketball team captain had only gotten worse every second they hung out.

What had happened between them was something Steve had daydreamed about; something that gave him a shiver whenever Bucky was close to him. That had to be some kind of dishonest—to sit next to a guy almost every day, have that guy over to your house, touch him, play-fight with him, whatever, and never tell him that the whole time, he wanted to do much more. That sometimes, when Bucky smiled, it made Steve's entire day better.

The kiss had been everything Steve had wanted for months now, so it took him a few days of replaying it over and over again in his mind to be sure. He always arrived at the same conclusion: He hadn't been the one to initiate the kiss. Bucky had kissed him.

James Buchanan Barnes had kissed him.

And then, James Buchanan Barnes had well and thoroughly ditched him.

Maybe it was lucky that it all happened the last two weeks of school. Steve didn't know how he could have stood it otherwise. He'd been alone, virtually friendless except for an awkward soul here and there, most of his life. This time was different. Bucky wasn't just some random person who'd eaten lunch with him for a few weeks and then gone on to better things. Bucky was his best friend.

And, yeah. He, maybe, had more than a crush on him at that point. Which really was at least ten kinds of stupid. He'd indulged himself too often; let himself imagine what would happen if Bucky—who was always in his personal space—leaned in those last few inches.

He had. Bucky had been the one to pin him to the floor. Bucky had been the one who kissed him.

Now, Bucky was not only ignoring him, but he seemed to be making it a point to parade girls in front of him. He always passed by his table at lunch with his arm slung around some girl.

But Bucky had been the one to kiss him.

The first week of summer passed painfully slowly. Steve started to remember how he'd come to know Bucky in the first place. How being alone in the apartment he shared with his mother always made him restless and sad. How he used to break into houses just because it was something to do.

And one time, he'd broken into a house with a familiar face in the pictures on the wall.

It was nine days after school ended that someone knocked on the door. Steve jumped up, grateful for the distraction. He'd already worn out every page of one drawing pad and started on another. His fingers were cramped.

The last person he expected to find on the other side of the door was Bucky. Steve sucked in a sharp breath. He stared. Bucky stared back. He looked like hell—his hair was a wreck, his cheeks were stubbled, and his eyes were tortured. Steve opened his mouth to ask what the hell had happened, but Bucky spoke first.

"Is your mom here?"

Steve blinked. "What? No."

Bucky huffed. "Good," he said under his breath.

Before Steve could ask what the hell he meant, Bucky had grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. He pushed him inside the apartment and followed him in. He slammed the door, spun Steve around, and shoved him up against it.

Steve gasped, expecting a punch. Bucky didn't punch him. He kissed him. Steve gasped again and then groaned into Bucky's mouth. His hand had been trapped between them, and he spread it wide over Bucky's chest. Bucky's lips were relentless. Steve's head spun.

Then, with all his strength, Steve pushed Bucky away. Bucky kept ahold of his shirt, so it didn't do much good. Steve just ended up being yanked right along with him. They stumbled, and Bucky dropped one hand, his arm around Steve's waist to steady him. They stared at each other again, both panting. Steve's lips felt bruised. He licked them, and Bucky's eyes darted there and back quickly.

"You kissed me," Steve said stupidly.

"Uh. Yeah."

"Not right now. I mean…" Steve huffed and shook his head, trying to clear it. "Before. You kissed me."

Bucky's lip twitched as though he was fighting a grimace. "Yeah." He still hadn't let him go.

"Then, you got pissed at me for it." Steve didn't like injustice. Not even from Bucky.

Bucky winced. "Yeah," he said, his voice soft. He ducked his head, ashamed, but his fingers stroked along the small of Steve's back, making nonsensical designs. "I, uh… I don't know. I just don't know."

"What don't you know?" Bucky's nearness was kinda making him dizzy. Plus the way he was touching him sent thrills up his spine and distracted Steve from the fact he was supposed to be mad.

"I don't know why I did that," Bucky said.

"You don't know why you kissed me, or you don't know why you got pissed at me for it?"

"All of it." Bucky raised a tentative hand and touched Steve's face. Just as quickly, he pulled back as though he'd been burned and took a step away from him, wrapping his arms around himself. "It's just that Alexander...He says…"

Then, Steve understood, and if he could have kicked himself, he would have. He'd felt so damn sorry for himself since Bucky ran out on him, he hadn't stopped to think about what the whole thing with Alexander meant. That whole thing confused the hell out of Steve, so it must have been ten times worse for Bucky.

"You don't have to say anything," Steve said, unable to watch Bucky struggle for words anymore.

His friend shook his head. "No, I do. It was a shitty thing, okay? I know that. I guess that's just another thing Alexander is right about. I'm… I'm an asshole."

Steve clenched his fists at his side, angry for a reason he couldn't identify. "Your stepfather is the asshole. Don't listen to anything he says."

Bucky raised his head. "How would you know?"

Steve froze. He'd never met Bucky's stepfather. Now wasn't the time to bring up how he knew just how much of an asshole Alexander Pierce was. "From what you said."

Bucky nodded and shrugged. "Doesn't mean he isn't right about some things." He rubbed his shoulders and looked away. "He said I was a faggot."

The way his voice sounded then—tiny and lost—made Steve want to break things. He didn't know why. He didn't know anything, really, except that he hated Bucky's stepfather. "He's still a prick." He touched Bucky's shoulder, trying to figure out how to get him to come out of that weird, defensive posture. He was used to Bucky's confidence. He didn't like seeing him like this—like he was trying to make himself smaller.

Bucky sighed and shuffled closer. "I missed the hell out of you, Steve."

"Yeah." Steve shuffled closer too. "I missed you too."

All at once, Bucky came forward again. He looped his arms around Steve's waist and ducked his head against his shoulder. Slowly, Steve hugged him back. He closed his eyes, and just kind of breathed him in.

Whatever the hell this was, Steve would take it.

 _ **~Now~**_

Director Fury was one of the few men on the planet who could intimidate Steve Rogers. As such, he found it difficult not to squirm as Fury stared him down from across his pristine desk.

"I wonder if you're aware, Rogers, that you chose to work on the side of the prosecution. It's been some time now." Fury leaned back, his hands clasped and his gaze cool. "Perhaps you've become confused."

The corner of Steve's mouth twitched in mild irritation. "Do you have a problem with the case I'm currently assigned to? Have I misstepped somewhere?"

"The case your currently assigned to? No." He leaned forward now. "When you gave up the Barnes case, I assumed your intention was to not be involved, not to join the defense."

Steve had wondered how long Tony would keep his mouth shut about the whole thing. There was only so much he could take before he would snitch to daddy. "I think I would have remembered if I was employed at Romanoff and Barton."

"No, your work for them seems to be some kind of charity," Fury snapped. "What I know is that you were asking questions about a grieving widower, and suddenly Romanoff is digging into the past, stirring up things that were better left under a layer of dust."

"I think what you mean, sir, is that one of NYPD's finest seems to be at the center of an epidemic of bad things happen under mysterious circumstances around cons and ex-cons that have some connection to him. Accidental deaths of prisoners, more than one allegation of evidence planting. Then, there were two ex-girlfriends who alleged abuse-cases dropped-and the one ex-girlfriend whose death could be considered questionable. I could go on." He worked to keep his jaw unclenched. "And a long history of investigations closed too quickly to be thorough. I can see why it's upsetting to you, sir. We work closely with the NYPD, after all, and an embarrassment to them is an embarrassment to us."

Fury's jaw was taut. "So why-"

"Because I'd rather you, me, and the entire NYPD be embarrassed than send an innocent man to jail for the rest of his life."

"You have no guarantee he's innocent."

"I have reasonable doubt." Steve breathed in through his nose and out again. "I didn't do any of the legwork. Natasha did all of it."

"That you worked with her at all is a conflict of interest."

"I didn't work with her, sir. Nothing official. I-"

Fury held up a hand. He gave a huff, obviously disgruntled. "Romanoff is going to win this case," he said after a moment.

"Nothing is set in stone, sir." Steve had to keep reminding himself.

Fury scoffed. "She's good at creating reasonable doubt out of thin air, and this asshole gave her more than enough to work with." He grimaced. "You think he slaughtered his own wife?"

"I think he has little regard for people in general and a history of violence."

"And your friend? What does he have?"

Steve ducked his head. "A history of bad decisions made while under the influence, but absolutely no blood on his hands."

"That we can prove."

Steve looked up and looked his boss in his one good eye. "Yes, sir."

Fury held his gaze for another long moment before he nodded. "You requested time off next week."

"Yes, sir."

"Right when the trial starts."

"Yes, sir."

Fury tilted his head. "You know you can't be seen at that trial, right?"

Again, Steve's lip twitched. "With all due respect, Director, I'm going to be there."

"It's that important to you?"

If he wasn't there for Bucky, no one else was going to be. "He's my friend."

"And your friend is worth the risk to your reputation?"

"Yes," Steve said without hesitation.

"Hmm." Fury ran a hand over his mouth. "You're one of the better men I've known, Rogers. If this is the right move, Stark will get over losing. You might have some bridges to mend, especially with the NYPD, depending on how nasty this gets."

"Nothing I can't handle."

"I believe that. One more thing, Rogers."

"Yes, sir?"

Fury glared at him again-the kind of stare that put the fear of God in him. "I ever catch you playing for the wrong team again, and you better hope there's a position open at Romanoff and Barton."

"Fair enough, sir."

 _ **~0~**_

Two weeks. The trial took two soul-crushing weeks during which Steve learned things about his friend that broke his heart. As Fury had predicted, Natasha presented a great case for the defense to combat Tony's smart, pointed prosecution. It was a tough call. The jury deliberated through the night.

Because he'd been stuck at work, Steve almost didn't make it to the verdict. He came in just as the jury was filing back into the courtroom, and so took the first seat in the back, his knees too weak to hold him. Steve bowed his head, wringing his hands. His heart was pounding out of control and stuck in his throat. His stomach churned.

Bucky's story couldn't end this way. It just couldn't.

"We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty on all charges."

Steve let out the breath he'd been holding with a whoosh. He stared at the ground, blinking for a few seconds and replaying the words to be sure he'd heard correctly. The courtroom was noisy. Someone from the victim's family was crying loudly.

Raising his head, Steve's eyes went right to Bucky. His friend was turned in his seat, facing Natasha. Even from the side, Steve could see his eyes were wide with shock. She was shaking his hand.

Steve rose and made his way to the front. "Buck," he called when he was standing behind the barrier.

Bucky whirled around. He was clean-shaved and finely dressed in the suit Steve had bought for him. His face was bone white and his eyes still wide. "Steve?" he said, his voice raw.

"You got it, buddy. It's over." Steve reached across the barrier to put his hand on Bucky's shoulder.

"I...That's...That's it?"

"Yeah." Steve grinned. "Yeah, you're safe now. You're good."

Bucky looked him in the eyes and blinked several times. Then, he surged forward. Steve caught him automatically, holding him as close as he could over the barrier between them. Bucky was shaking. Clearly, he'd been a lot more scared than he'd let on.

"It's gonna be okay, Buck," Steve said. People were staring, but Steve didn't care. He'd wanted to give Bucky this hug since the last day he saw him in high school; since he walked away with tears and hate in his eyes. "It's gonna be okay."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for waiting, doves.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hiiiiii. I'm back. We're back. Let's see what the boys are up to.**

* * *

Steve thought maybe Bucky was in shock. He'd managed to get his friend out of the courtroom and into the hallway, but every gentle question he asked didn't seem to compute.

"Sorry. I guess none of this seems real yet," Bucky said, eyes still as wide as a child's.

Steve could understand that. In his line of work, he saw a lot of bittersweet endings. Yes, he could seek justice and win, but it was only after a grievous wrong had been done. Crime, pain, devastation—none of it could be undone.

But Bucky was the picture of a good man who'd convinced himself his life was over only to be told it had just begun. It must have been overwhelming to expect the rest of his days to be lived out behind bars and high, chain link fences and then to be given the rest of the world back.

"Hey, Rogers."

Steve turned to find Tony striding toward him. It was all he could do not to grimace. He made a signal that Tony should wait and turned back to Bucky and Natasha, who'd been walking with them. "Do you have someplace to go, Buck?"

"I…" Bucky blinked. "You mean, like to stay? A home?" He gave a huff of laughter. "No, man. I don't know where I'm going."

"How about you come stay with me?"

"Steve—"

"Don't worry about it. We'll figure it all out." He looked to Natasha. "Hey. You think you can do me one last favor?"

Natasha cut her eyes between Steve and Tony standing a small distance back. "You want me to take our friend here to pick up his things and drop him off at your place while you see what fires have to be put out?" She arched a well-manicured eyebrow, a smirk playing at her lips.

"If it's no trouble."

"Not for you, Steve."

"Thanks." Steve offered Bucky a reassuring smile and watched for a moment as Natasha led him away. Then, he took a deep breath, and turned to face Tony.

He was leaning up against the wall, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised as though in condescending impatience. Steve put on his best, 'yes sir' face and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, Tony." He offered a hand.

Tony ignored it. "Okay, so, the obligatory post-win party. Seeing that it's a Thursday, how about we move it to tomorrow night? We can do it up right at my place, and that way, I won't have to find a ride home." He snickered.

Now it was Steve's turn to blink like a confused kid. He understood what the other man was trying to do. It was tradition in their office that any time they had a win, the whole team went out to celebrate. Tony had moved the celebrations to his place more than once, especially when he was in the mood for a more raucous party.

There was one small problem here. "Tony… You lost."

Tony's trademark cocky grin came back in full force. He clapped Steve's shoulder. "Yeah, but you didn't. It was a good case, counselor. Well fought." He rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying I don't think this guy is trouble, but you're a big boy. You get to make that call for yourself."

He clapped his hands together. "So. My place. Tomorrow night, at eight o'clock. Bring the bad boy boyfriend."

"It's not like that with us."

Tony made a 'whatever' motion with his hand. "Don't care. The point is, bring him. And see if you can't get him into some leather pants. It goes with the image. That and—I'm pretty sure he's hiding a great ass behind that suit jacket. I don't know. You tell me."

"I wouldn't know." Despite himself, Steve's cheeks had gone hot. Of course he knew. It wasn't his fault he had eyes and Bucky, well… Bucky hadn't had much to do in jail besides work out.

Tony just stared at him a beat. "Okay. Play it cool if you want to, Cap, but tomorrow, you're giving me your RSVP." He'd begun unbuttoning his jacket as he spoke. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go lick my wounds. Or, you know, find someone to do it for me."

"Good luck with that," Steve said with a laugh.

"Oh, that's a guaranteed win. Especially if you're not there to cockblock me. You have a good night. Remember, you don't know where he's been so be safe. Wrap it tight."

Steve could do nothing but shake his head as Tony strode away, whistling.

 _ **~0~**_

Looking around his place, Steve couldn't help but hear what Bucky would say. "Come on, Rogers. What are you, an army man? Even they got pictures of their best girl up. Something, man. Give me something."

It wasn't that Steve wanted his place to look so barren—white and clean. He just hadn't gotten around to decorating, was all. He was at work a lot.

Well, it was too late now. Now, all he could do was put his dirty coffee cup in the dishwasher and rearrange his collection of artsy statuettes he'd collected from the different countries he'd been to.

He hadn't been home for long when there was a knock at the door. Natasha must have charmed her way in. Sure enough, he opened the door to find her standing next to Bucky in the hallway.

The moment he opened the door, something in the air shifted. Steve saw Natasha, but his eyes went straight to Bucky.

His friend's eyes were clearer than they had been in the courthouse, and there was something in them that set Steve's heart beating faster. It was an odd sensation. Like static just under his skin. Bucky looked back at him, and there was something in the slight curve of his lips that caught Steve's attention and held it.

"Uh, hi," Steve said, feeling foolish. He cleared his throat and stepped backward. "Come on in."

"Not me." Natasha was grinning at him—a smile that rivaled Tony's all-knowing grin. "Just dropping off the precious cargo here." She tilted her head toward Bucky.

"No. Natasha. Stay, won't you? I could get you a drink. The least I owe you is dinner," Steve said, managing finally to remember his manners.

"Got places to be, Rogers. A life to live that doesn't involve you." She winked at him and turned to Bucky. "Nice working with you, Barnes. I hope I never have the pleasure again."

He shook her hand. "Thank you for everything, Ms. Romanoff. I hope I can repay you someday."

She smiled more genuinely. "Stay out of trouble." To Steve she said, "We're even. Not that it matters. I'm sure I'll have red in my ledger again soon."

Then, Steve and Bucky were alone.

It wasn't that the quiet was awkward. Rather, it seemed charged somehow. There was a feeling of anticipation in the air, but of what, Steve couldn't figure out. It had him tongue-tied and discombobulated.

Steve had two modes—carefully plan and execute or dive in head first. The problem was he was neither prepared nor was he at all sure what he was diving into. He hadn't thought things through at all beyond the trial.

Of course, given that it was Bucky's life in question, it wasn't like Steve could have made any decisions anyway. Right. That was why he was out of sorts.

"You hungry?" he blurted the words. "Or thirsty."

Bucky smiled. It was a strange smile. Not quite weak, but not the brilliant grin he'd often flashed when they were teenagers, full of teeth. "I'm okay," he said simply.

"Okay." Steve paused a beat. "How about a tour?"

Bucky agreed, but Steve got the sense he would have agreed to anything right then. He was unnaturally quiet. He followed Steve around like a docile puppy, looking around the sparse apartment. He did get a strange smile on his face at one point.

"Just...You got your own place," Bucky said when Steve finally asked him what his look was all about.

Steve ducked his head. "It's okay."

"It's got two bedrooms, Steve."

The way Bucky looked at him, like Steve was some kind of special for being able to afford an apartment like this all on his own, did strange things to his blood. It was too hot, for one thing. "I didn't think you'd like it."

"Well, I mean, it looks like a monk lives here instead of Steve Rogers."

They both chuckled, exchanging almost shy glances. Steve rolled his shoulders, trying to expel the weird energy roiling between them. "Come on. I'll show you the rest of the apartment."

More out of nervousness than anything else, Steve narrated with way too much detail. The third tile in the kitchen was the same color but a slightly different design. The view from the tiny window looked out at the bedroom for the building next door.

"And there's this weird space in the living room behind the built-in shelves. One day, when Tony was over here, he goes over to the shelf and pulls out this bottle of Jack." Steve shook his head.

"Tony as in Stark? As in the guy that was trying his hardest to get me sent up for the rest of my natural life?" Bucky had a weird look on his face. "Are you and he a…"

"Oh." Steve laughed. It sounded as nervous and guilty—why the hell should he feel guilty—as he felt. "He comes over when we have a case to work on. Don't get me wrong. He wishes it was different, but I'm over one-night stands at this point. Plus, dating a colleague?" He shook his head. "Just not a good idea any way you look at it."

The disturbed look faded from Bucky's face. "Yeah, that sounds like you."

Steve moved on down the hallway to where the two bedrooms were.

Really, he didn't know why he'd saved the bedrooms for last. They should have been first, or at least Bucky's should have been. His few possessions were in a plastic bag in the hallway. It would probably be nice for him to get settled in.

"It's mostly a work out room right now," Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck. "The sofa is a pull out, but we can rearrange everything and get a bed tomorrow." He cleared his throat. "Uh… And this is my room." He walked back out into the hallway and gestured at his door. "In case you...Um…"

He turned around and was startled to find Bucky right behind him. Just right there. Steve's heart skipped a beat and then picked up in double time. His eyes darted to Bucky's lips and back again.

"In case I what?" Bucky asked. His voice was low and husky. His breath fell hot on Steve's lips.

"In case…" Steve was having trouble concentrating. That might have been because Bucky had tilted his head and rested a hand at his hip. "In case you want…"

"This?" Bucky suggested, sliding his hand so it was warm on Steve's back. His lips brushed Steve's with a feather touch.

"Um…" It seemed to Steve like there was something he should be thinking about. Bucky was his guest. Wasn't it impolite to want him as much as he did right now? And there was more, besides. Like their past, and what even was happening here.

Steve exhaled and tilted his head to catch Bucky's lips, kissing him. It was a quick press of their lips. A taste. And just like that, familiarity rushed back. He was a full-grown man with problems and issues. Steve couldn't begin to understand the things he'd been through, but it didn't really matter. He was still his Bucky.

Bucky took his face in his hands, tilting his head up for another kiss and another. Steve closed the gap between them so they were chest to chest. His kisses were hungry now; like a man who hadn't realized it had been days since he ate.

Oh, hell. Bucky tasted good. The muscles of his back felt good under Steve's hands even through the fabric of his dress shirt.

There was a reason Steve had actively not let himself want this. What was it?

"Buck?" Steve didn't quite break their kiss. He just made it smaller. Less desperate. Little pecks along Bucky's upper lip.

"Huh?" Bucky's eyes were closed. He was as breathless as Steve was, kissing him between pants.

"You, uh…" God, he tasted good. Steve was dizzy with the want to just give in, pull Bucky toward him and devour. "You're not, um… You're not doing this because...because you think you have to?"

That seemed important. Steve wasn't that naive. Maybe he didn't think Bucky was a murderer, but he knew damn well he was a drug addict, among other things. He knew what some addicts did to get a hit.

To his surprise, Bucky laughed. He pulled back, cupping Steve's face in his hands again. "I know you better than that."

Not that he wouldn't have done it, some distant part of Steve's brain noted. He furrowed his brow. He still hadn't caught his breath.

Bucky stroked his thumbs along Steve's cheekbones with a tender touch. "At least, I did know you. You could have become some drugged up asshole since the last time I saw you, huh? Maybe just better at not getting caught."

Steve licked his lips. "I smoked pot a couple of times."

"Yeah?" He kissed him gently. "You want me to stop?" His fingertips ran along Steve's spine.

By that point, Steve didn't have any words left. There was a lot to talk about, but all of that seemed like a distant second to his need for this. For Bucky. So his only response was to hook his finger in between the buttons of Bucky's dressy shirt and pull him closer.

It was like a fire had erupted all around them. All Steve knew was heat and the man in front of him. He untucked Bucky's shirt and splayed his hand over his abs. He groaned into his mouth.

"You like that, huh?" Bucky said, teasing him.

A thrill went down Steve's spine. This was the Bucky he remembered—self-assured and playful. He knew what he was doing, and Steve was happy to let him lead. Bucky gripped his hips, spun him, and pressed him up against the wall, attacking his neck with nips as Steve threw his head back with a gasp.

Oh, yeah. Letting him lead was one of the better ideas Steve had had lately.

"I think—" Bucky said between kisses, running his hands down Steve's sides and cupping his ass. "—you were about to show me your room."

For months now, Steve's single-minded goal was to get Bucky out of jail and out of trouble. In that quest, he'd pushed everything aside, including his deep-seated desire for this.

Thing was...as much as he'd tried to convince himself he was just a dumb high school kid, Steve had never had anything like he'd had with Bucky. Not even close.

This was a dance he'd thought he'd forgotten, but picking it up again was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers made quick work of Bucky's shirt. They made it into the bedroom between kisses and clothing sliding to the floor.

To Steve's surprise, Bucky lifted him up into his arms. He gasped and then laughed, looping his arms around Bucky's neck. The other man grunted. "This was easier when you were a little thing," he grumbled. He set Steve down on the bed, and took his cock in his hand and grinning as he stroked him. "Of course, I like you as a bigger thing just fine."

Steve snorted. He stretched his arm out to the nightstand and took a pack of condoms and a bottle of lube from the drawer. He tossed these at Bucky.

"You're such a fucking Boy Scout," Bucky teased, kneeling between Steve's legs. "Always prepared."

When Bucky touched him, all the memories Steve had pushed to the back of his mind all these long years without him came rushing back. It had been like this with them when they were kids—as easy as breathing. When Bucky whispered, "Do you wanna…" it was nothing for Steve to answer, "Yes." Yes, he would try that. Yes, he wanted Bucky to do this. Yes. He would go wherever Bucky led him.

It was the same, and it was different. Bucky wasn't a boy anymore. He didn't move like a boy—all eagerness and no grace at all. This wasn't the time for exploration either. Bucky knew what Steve wanted, what he needed, without asking, and when he pushed inside him, it was everything. Completeness and pleasure and that elusive thing that Steve hadn't even known he was looking for until it found him. It was the answer to every question. Why had he just known Bucky was innocent? Why had he risked everything to help him? Why had he accepted him back into his arms and into his bed despite all the bullshit and bad blood between them since the day Bucky had left?

Because Bucky was his. That was all there was to it.

Steve crossed his legs behind Bucky's back, needing him closer, deeper. Bucky had grabbed his hands and pinned them above his head, their fingers twined as he pumped into him. They hadn't stopped kissing, as though the need to be connected in every way possible was more important than anything. Though when they had to breathe, they spoke only in a language comprised of each other's names mumbled against skin.

When they were both sated, it was Steve who took Bucky in his arms, sheltering him the way he wanted to since his case had come across his desk. And Bucky let him, resting his head on his chest and tracing lackadaisical circles with his fingertips.

"Ya know, for the record"—Bucky mumbled around a yawn—"muscles don't make good pillows."

Steve laughed. He ruffled Bucky's hair and fell asleep more easily and deeply than he had in years.

* * *

 **A/N: My doc is full of Sebastian Stan working out and...a whole bunch of NSFW gifs. Whoa.**

 **How are you doing out there?**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Look! An update!**

* * *

Under normal circumstances, Bucky was an early riser. His friends—term used loosely—used to call him Soldier, because he'd always find himself up by six in the morning like clockwork. Admittedly, it was a little funny. He was a junkie, and usually not much more than that. What the hell business did he have at six in the morning?

Today, though—the first day of the rest of his life—Bucky slept in.

He was vaguely aware of noises. The wet smack of Steve's lips pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. The creak of the bed when he rose and the sound of a man trying to be as quiet as possible

Bucky tried to peel his eyes open. He really did. He was just so tired, and it was the first time in forever he felt safe. Truly safe.

"Bucky?"

That voice carried a little more incentive for him to open his eyes. Still, he couldn't bring himself to do it. His dreams had been too good for him to want to bail out now.

"Bucky," the voice came again, and he felt a gentle touch at his hair.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" he mumbled, still not opening his eyes. He knew what Bucky's life looked like, and it wasn't this—waking up in a warm bed, still half-asleep and, for once, at total peace.

Steve chuckled and Bucky felt the bed jostle as he sat down, resting a hand on his hip. "You don't have to wake up. I have to go to work. I'm going to leave you my cell phone, okay? Just call me when you wake up, and I can tell you where everything is."

Now Bucky did open his eyes. He rolled onto his back, looked Steve up and down, and promptly rolled over, burying his head with a groan.

"Buck?"

Bucky laughed into his pillow before he rolled over again. He reached up, running his hand down the silk of Steve's tie. "It's worth waking up to see you in a suit."

Steve smiled with light in his eyes. Bucky really liked that.

"I wear a lot of suits," Steve mused.

"Then I guess we'd better stay friends."

"I'd like that."

There was a moment, when Steve looked at Bucky and he looked back at him. Bucky had the urge to wind that pretty silk tie around his hand and drag Steve back down to him.

But Steve was a serious person with a serious job. He probably needed that serious tie to be smooth. No wrinkles from his grubby hands.

Bucky sat up, rubbing his eyes. He blinked, finding Steve kissably close again. Damn, how he wanted to rumple that suit. Especially when Steve put a hand on his shoulder. "What are you doing, Buck?"

"Don't worry. I'm not going to be a bum on your dime. I'll start looking for work." He ran his fingers through his hair, still surprised to find it cut short and neat. "I'll figure out how to get out of your space. Maybe there's a shelter or a halfway house or—"

"Hey." Steve squeezed his shoulder. "There's time for all that. Why don't you take it easy today? Get some sleep."

Bucky stared. "You want me to sleep?" He had to laugh.

Steve ran the back of his knuckles down Bucky's cheek. "You know you look like you haven't slept in at least ten years?"

There was a weird knot in Bucky's throat, but he smirked right back at Steve. "You trying to tell me I got an ugly face?"

"No," Steve said, holding his eyes. He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to his lips. "Just take it easy. Sleep as long as you want. Eat whatever you want. Don't think about what comes next. That can wait a couple more days. I'll help you."

Bucky huffed, his heart pounding too hard. "I don't usually hear things like that from people who aren't appointed by the courts."

"Well, I was appointed by the court." He winked as he stood up. "I'm going to work."

 _ **~0~**_

Bucky did sleep. Hard, and long. As a result, he was groggy when a phone rang. He was confused, trying to remember the last time he had a phone and who the hell would be calling him, when he realized what was happening. Steve had left his phone. It had to be Steve calling.

"Hello?" he answered, eyes still closed as he sat up in bed.

There was a long, low whistle on the other end of the line. "You know, if 900 numbers were still a thing, I know exactly what you should look into as a career choice."

Bucky's eyes flew open wide. "What?"

"Gotta be quicker on the uptake than that if you want to keep up with the big boys, Mr. Barnes."

A chill went through Bucky, though he couldn't quite place why. He shook his head hard. "What? Who is this?" How did they know who he was?

"Just how many brain cells did you fry in your long run as a junkie?"

Bucky stared at nothing, his eyebrows pinched. "Mr. Stark?"

"By George, I think he's got it. Boy, it's a good thing you're cute. At least I know what I've been doing wrong with Steve. He likes them dumb."

"Can I help you with something?" Bucky had to remind himself he didn't have a parole officer. Not this time.

He was a free man. Not guilty.

"You can settle a bet for me. What bed are you still in at eleven-thirty in the morning? Steve's or the guest room?"

Bucky was quiet for too long. On the other end of the line Stark chuckled. "I knew Steve was full of shit. Mr. 'It's not like that between us.' He lied for you. The Golden Boy told a lie." Another chuckle. "I think he likes you, Bucko."

"You are the one who tried to send me to jail for the rest of my life, right?"

"That was yesterday." There was a sound as though he'd clapped his hands together. "So. I can't trust Cap to tell the truth anymore."

"You can't trust who?"

"Steve. Come on now. Life around here moves at _Devil Wears Prada_ speed at least."

"See, I know you're speaking English, but…"

"Jeez. How long have you been stoned? Did you at least watch _Pineapple Express_?" He sighed dramatically. "Long story short, we like to throw a little shindig when we win a case."

"But you lost your case." This man was very confusing.

"You know what? I'm seeing it now. You and Steve deserve each other. Hey, genius. Party. Technically in Steve's honor because he won the hell out of that case, but really celebrating you being back on the streets. Hooray." The last word was sarcastic. "Anyway. Steve keeps trying to tell me you need time. To leave you alone, but come on. You're a party animal."

"I'm not—"

"Don't be ridiculous. You know I'll have plenty of the tasty, non-alcoholic drinks. I can't imagine what that they would be, but that's why I hire people. Come on. It'll be fun."

"I...guess?" He didn't want Steve to miss out on something he usually went to just because of him.

"Excellent." He cackled. "I'm going to hang up before you realize you just agreed to be in an entire room full of prosecutors."

"I—shit."

"Wear something tight and sexy. Toodles."

Bucky stared at the phone. What the hell had just happened?

A few minutes later, as he was trying to remember if Steve had told him his number at the office, the cell phone in his hand rang. He glared at it, wondering what fresh hell was waiting for him. He connected the call and brought it gingerly to his ear. "Hello? Steve's phone?"

"Buck?"

Bucky slumped down. "Oh, thank fuck. Steve."

"I'm sorry. Tony is...ah…"

"In love with you?" Despite his curiosity, Bucky was relaxed again. Steve had that effect on him.

"He's not…" Steve's laugh then was nervous. "That's just Tony. Just watch. He'll flirt with you as soon as he gets the chance."

Bucky shuddered. "Jesus, what must that be like? What did Natasha call him? The Ironman. He was vicious. I'm going to have nightmares about being interrogated by him."

"Actually, no one I know can party harder than Tony Stark. He makes it into an art form. They're something, his parties. But don't say yes just because he bullied you into it. We don't have to go."

An image flashed in his head—he and Steve curled up together on the couch just watching television. The thought of it made his heart ache with want.

That wasn't his life. It never had been his life, and it was never going to be.

"Me in a room full of lawyers who aren't trying to nail my ass," he mused.

"Well, at least not in the courtroom."

Bucky chortled. "Not as innocent as you look, are you?" He sighed. "You put a lot on the line to help me, didn't you?"

Steve sucked in a breath. "It's fine."

"No, it's not." He rubbed the back of his neck. "The least I can do is let them grill me off the stand. I just got out of prison. They can't possibly be worse than that."

"No, they're good people." Steve paused a beat. "We really don't have to go, but if you do want to, you need to buy something to wear. Something swanky."

"Oh, swanky." Bucky reached for his discarded jeans, smoothing them out. "I don't have much."

"I know. I was going to tell you. There's a small safe behind my brown shoes in the closet. Take whatever cash you need to get something nice. There's a shopping center a couple of blocks down that has the stores you need."

Bucky grumbled under his breath, but he didn't argue. He wasn't going to embarrass Steve, and he had no money of his own. He'd use it as incentive to get off his ass and pay his friend back. "Fine, but I'm starting a tab." He found the safe. "What's the passcode?"

For some reason, that question was met with a long silence. "Steve?"

"It's, uh…" Steve was in full 'aw-shucks' mode. "It's, um. It's your birthday."

Now it was Bucky's turn to be silent.

"It was secure," Steve stumbled. "A number I could remember, but that no one would associate with me. It's been part of all my passwords for a long time. Since we were kids. I just...never changed it."

Not for the first time, Bucky was struck dumb. "That… I mean… Damn, Steve."

"Don't, uh…" Bucky could almost hear Steve blushing. "Look, you're important to me. You always have been. That's all."

"I mean… I spent so much of the time we were apart hating you," Bucky said, his voice thin as he tried to wrap his head around everything. He couldn't get used to the idea Steve had done any of this for him. What could his life have been like if he hadn't gotten so angry?

"Hey, it's a new day, okay?" Steve cleared his throat. "Are you sure you want to do this thing tonight?"

Bucky laughed. "It's what got me in trouble in the first place, right? I never can say no to a party."

"Nothing's going to happen, you know. Natasha will be there. And it was Tony's job to interrogate you on the witness stand. That's not what he's like outside the courtroom. He throws a good party."

"Yeah. It's fine." Bucky got to his feet, arching his back as he stretched. "And I'll pay you back. I promise, I'll pay you back for everything."

There was a pause on the other end, but Steve didn't argue. "I can probably cut out around four."

"Don't get yourself in anymore trouble for me."

"Does that sound like something I would do?" Steve asked, too innocently.

"Ha. Isn't that ironic? _You_ were the troublemaker."

"And you were the one dragging my ass out of the fire."

"Yeah." By then, Bucky had found a towel. "I'll see you later."

 _ **~0~**_

It was the most thought Bucky had ever put into what he wore. Even before he fell off the deep end, when he went to parties or on dates, he didn't think much about how he dressed. He was a good-looking man when he was all cleaned up. As long as his clothes weren't shabby, he was going to look good.

Of course, the more drugs and crime took over his life, the less he cared about what he wore. He had a shabby suit for the inevitable times he'd be hauled in front of a judge.

Honestly—everything he owned was shabby. These days, when he wasn't in jail, he was the kind of guy who shopped at Goodwill. The price tag at the store Steve sent him to was shocking. It would take his first three months of paychecks at whatever penny ante job he managed to get to pay Steve back for just the one outfit.

Well, whatever. As much as he told himself he was doing this for Steve, he also had to admit there was a selfish part of him that couldn't wait to walk into that party looking the way he did. He'd never won a case before. He'd never been able to look at any official—attorney or cop—with the smug satisfaction that he wasn't guilty. In his new clothes, he looked like a totally different person. The person he wanted to be.

The person he had the chance to be now?

Bucky shook that daydream away. Nothing had changed, really. He was still a former junkie, a recovering drug addict, an ex-con with no education and no real work history. He wasn't a murderer. That was nothing to be proud of. The most he would amount to was a quiet life with a job that hopefully let him survive.

But tonight? Tonight he would walk into a party full of the same kind of people who had always looked down on him. He'd be their equal—fancy clothes, nice, shiny shoes, freshly shaven face and hair mussed just so.

Steve called around four sounding frustrated. He had to work overtime. Bucky read between the lines easily enough. He wasn't an idiot. He knew that it had to be a big deal that a DA had worked so hard to get a bum like him out of trouble. His boss was probably going to make his working life just a little miserable for awhile.

As a result, Steve was in a rush when he finally made it home. He came in the door already shedding his clothes, which amused Bucky to no end.

"Don't tell me you're the kind of guy who has to be on time even to parties," Bucky teased.

"Why choose a time if you don't really mean it?" Steve shot back, stripping off his boxers as though he was that used to having Bucky in his home.

Bucky, highly distracted by the very naked, very attractive body in front of him, said eloquently, "Huh?"

Steve flashed a grin. "Get ready. I'll be quick if you need to take a shower." His smile only got more devilish. "I'd say you should come in with me, but—"

"We're already going to be late?" Bucky finished, having gotten ahold of himself.

"Exactly."

So, reluctantly, Bucky retreated to the bedroom to get dressed. Steve took a military-short shower but stayed in the bathroom. His closet was attached, so that was no surprise.

Some minutes later, Bucky stood in front of the full length mirror. His outfit was simple—the fanciest, best cut pair of navy blue pants he'd ever owned. A plain white shirt that showed off his physique, and a navy blue suit jacket in what the salesperson had said was a playful rather than a serious cut. Bucky didn't really know what that meant, but he was aiming for snazzy yet semi-casual.

Objectively, he looked good.

The bathroom door came open. "I just need to run a comb through my—"

As he turned around, he cut off.

Jesus Christ. Steven Grant Rogers was the most beautiful man Bucky had ever seen. That fact kept shocking him. He was wearing a button down shirt—navy blue. Black pants. He just looked—

"Damn," Steve said under his breath, his eyes sweeping up and down Bucky's body.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "You like it?"

Steve ran a hand over his mouth and then met Bucky's eyes, looking sheepish. He just shook his head and crossed the room. Hooking an arm around Bucky's waist, he pulled him close and kissed him. Hard. With the fingers of his free hand, he unbuttoned the one button Bucky had done, and then splayed his hand wide over his belly.

"Ohhh, I don't want to go to the party anymore," Bucky said, panting lightly when their kiss broke.

"Ha. You should have thought of that." Steve kissed him once more. "Come on. Let's go. And remind me I can't maul you in the cab." He shook his head. "Tony is already going to be insufferable. I told him yesterday nothing was going on between us."

"Don't pretend you didn't like it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a punk."

"Jerk." Steve smiled. "Get a move on."

Bucky saluted. "Let's go."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks to everyone who's still hanging on!**


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